


Twenty Years

by immortalemrys



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blow Jobs, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Experienced Greg, France - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Mycroft, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sexual Dysfunction, Speaking French, Teen Mycroft, Young Greg, body issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2655278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalemrys/pseuds/immortalemrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cannes, France 1988. Two strangers meet and sleep together.  London, St Barts 2008.  The same two strangers meet again at the bedside of a cocaine junkie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft meet for the first time as 'Mike' & 'Jaren'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay as mentioned I have been rewriting this work, some chapters have had only minor changes and others less minor and I am starting to upload the newly written chapters. 
> 
> There was one violent element I wanted to change because it was just too difficult to work with, especially if you have not be subjected to that particular crime and I did not want to make light of or offend anyone.
> 
> I hope you will like the changes I have made, thank you for reading
> 
> Thank you to sam for the translation to French.

Cannes, France, 1988.

“Que puis-je faire pour vous?” (What can I get you?)

The barmaid had to speak up a little over the noise of the jazz band that was playing, he normally didn’t go in for jazz but the ambience of the place was nice.

“Un Brandy, s'il vous plait” answered Greg handing the money taking note of her ample breasts. (Brandy, please)

It was his second last night in France before going back to London and back to work. He’d come over for a week to visit his Grand-mère and Grand-père who lived in Vallauris and ran a restaurant there. His Grand-mère had literally waved him out the door insisting he have a night out to do what young people did, not to come back until morning and to have a good time.

He’d booked into a cheap room at a hotel that wasn’t by any means fancy but was clean on Rue Du Vingt-Quatre Aout then had spent a good couple of hours browsing the various bars and clubs around Cannes for talent. It had been a while since he’d got laid and Cannes was as good as any place to find a prospective tumble for a few hours.

His girlfriend of five months, Caroline, had dumped him just before he’d come to France, not that he’d expected it to last…..she’d been a nice lay but she wasn’t what he was looking for long term anyway and she had little interest in doing much more than partying.

Greg picked up his brandy and took a gulp smiling at the pretty blond barmaid who flashed him a smile back. Unexpectedly a body smacked into him roughly, a hand grabbed at his shoulder making him spill his brandy onto the bar mat as he had gone to set it down. He whirled around to find a drunk had fallen over and knocked into another man who had then knocked into Greg. The younger man, a very nice looking young man in fact, who had smacked into him took a fast step back snatching the hand away that had grabbed his shoulder and held both of his hands up in a defensive posture looking a bit scared and worried.

“Pardonnez-moi” said the younger man quickly. (Pardon me, so sorry)

The band finished their number as he spoke and his voice sounded far too loud now in the quieter establishment. Greg bent down and hauled the drunk to his feet by the back of his shirt; he’d had plenty of practice over the years in dealing with drunken idiots.

“Excuses-toi auprès de cet homme et rentres chez vous décuver” snapped Greg. (Apologise to this young man and then go home and sleep it off mate)

“Désolé!” said the man who was quite obviously heavily intoxicated by his slurred words and unsteady swaying. (Sorry!)

Greg watched the man stumble away towards the door to leave then turned his gaze to the younger man. He put his age at around 18 to 19 though he dressed like a much older man would in grey trousers, white shirt, grey waistcoat and burgundy tie…..he even wore cufflinks, and a chain on his waistcoat suggested he also wore a pocket watch tucked into a small pocket on the waistcoat. 

Though his hair had been smoothed back with mousse, a couple of strands had broken lose and hung over his forehead in orangey curls the colour of sunshine on a hot summers day. His inspection obviously embarrassed the younger man whose cheeks went pink though it didn’t stop his blue eyes from running over Greg in return. 

Well that was interesting.

“C'est pas grave, je te paye un verre?”asked Greg watching the young man carefully. (No harm done, may I buy you a drink?)

“Euh, oui, se serais sympa” replied the younger man too quickly (Uh, yes, that would be lovely) and leaned against the bar trying to act casually.

Greg supressed a grin and caught the eye of the barmaid who had been smiling at him and asked her for another brandy. She was definitely flirting with him as she handed him the two fingers of brandy in a tumbler, sticking out her large bosom as she gave him his change before being called to attend someone else.

“Elle est très Belle. Tu lui plais.” commented the young man lighting a cigarette. (She’s very pretty, she fancies you)

“Elle est plutôt attirante, mais cela te choquerait si je trouvais les hommes attirant aussi?” said Greg also taking out his cigarettes. (She’s attractive enough but would it shock you to know I also find men attractive)

It was a risky statement that would send the young man running if he wasn’t what Greg thought he may be, at worst it could get him beaten the shit out of. Homophobia and bigotry was rife and finding guys to sleep with was difficult and dangerous. As a cop he’d attended quite a few gay bashings since becoming a Constable and it wasn’t pretty…..some homophobic bastards were in fact closeted gays or bisexual like himself and couldn’t deal with it so instigated gay hunts to deflect notice from themselves, then there were the ones who bashed because of the HIV and AIDS scares, and then there were the ones who just hated on gays and bashed because they enjoyed it.

He swore mentally, it was obvious he’d misplaced his lighter at one of the other bars he’d been earlier when a fruitless search of his pockets found it gone. The younger man produced an expensive looking silver lighter from his trouser pocket, Greg leaned in and blue eyes fell to his lips as he put the cigarette in his mouth and drew on it as the lighter flamed. At this close proximity and with the light from the lighter he could see a smattering of light freckles across his nose, forehead and cheeks. 

The younger man didn’t answer him; instead he took a big gulp of his scotch and looked over the occupants of the club. The jazz band started up another number and they both silently watched them. Greg wrestled with himself when the ginger haired beauty didn’t slip away, the guy was young and he got the feeling he was possibly not very experienced….. Greg himself had started screwing around at 14 he wished he had waited until he was a bit older.

“What’s your name?” asked Greg forgetting to speak in French.

“Oh, I thought you might be English but wasn’t quite sure, your linguistic inflections aren’t quite right” said the younger man with no trace of a French accent, rather, he now spoke with one that smacked of the English upper classes “Mike”

“Born and bred, my Father is French” said Greg, then lied about his name and used his second name as he held out his hand “Jaren, pleased to meet you Mike”

Mike took his proffered hand and though his handshake was firm his hands were soft. Not used to doing any hard work then, probably one of those poshies from either Oxford or Cambridge who was no doubt swotting away to go into government or something equally high-brow.

Greg turned and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar, made his decision and leant close to the younger man who was again watching the jazz band.

“Hotel Cybell, Rue Du Vingt-Quatre Aout, Room 17” said Greg in a low voice then finished what was left of his brandy.

He walked away not looking back and stepped out into the warm balmy Mediterranean air to head to his hotel. It had been over 6 months since he’d been with a male and looked forward to the smell, feel and taste of a masculine body again.

Back at his room he quickly got rid of the bag and dirty clothes off his bed, found the baby oil out of his wash pack that he used to wank with and tossed it into the bedside table along with a wad of condoms. He threw open the small double door that looked out onto a brick wall to let some air in so the archaic looking ceiling fan could cool the room a bit. 

He turned on the lamp that sat on a small table and switched off the glaring main light. It wasn’t exactly fancy like where the rich knobs stayed but the bed was at least reasonably comfortable and clean.

Greg sniffed himself to make sure he still smelled nice though he’d showered before going out and found a breath mint in backpack so as to get rid of the cigarette taste from his mouth then waited for his visitor. 

Twenty minutes later he had convinced himself that he’d been wrong about the young man though usually he wasn’t wrong in picking the gay or bi ones, maybe he was older than what he liked,….or maybe he had been right but the stuck up twat didn’t want to slum it with the likes of him, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been called trash…..he hadn’t hidden the fact he’d come from the rougher parts of England. He jumped when two knocks rapped on his door after spending a minute convincing himself it was probably for the best since Mike too young for him anyway. 

Taking a deep breath he opened it and found Mike on the other side. Greg stepped aside to let him into the small room.


	2. Easy does it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small talk leads to Greg treating 'Mike' like he would a virgin.

“I didn’t think you were going to come” said Greg closing the door after Mike entered.

Mike’s blue eyes swept over the basic room. It was a far cry from the 5 star hotels that littered Cannes and probably where Mike was staying.

“I walked around for a bit…..I very nearly didn’t” said the younger man bluntly.

Greg raised his eyebrows as Mike turned his gaze on him.

“OK, well I’m not an axe wielding maniac, I’m not a rapist and nor am I psychopath” said Greg.

“I know that” said Mike.

“So why didn’t you nearly not come then?” asked Greg.

Mike shrugged turning his face to the double doors so Greg couldn’t see his expression.

“Well that’s not really an answer is it?” said Greg feeling a little frustrated then swallowed as an earlier thought struck him. “You have done this before, haven't you?”

Mike went over to the open doors to look out.

“Would that be a problem?” asked Mike evenly not looking back at him.

Greg swallowed again. He’d never been with a virgin and really didn’t want to be someone’s first time. A first time was a big deal. His first time with a female had been a disaster and his first time with a man had been horrendous. He would rather be bluntly direct to avoid being someone’s first time and turn them down.

“In all honesty I don’t really want that responsibility thanks” said Greg truthfully.

There was several moments silence before Mike answered.

“No, I’m not a virgin….….but I’m hardly experienced either” admitted Mike flatly. 

Reading between the lines of the tone of his voice Greg would say that young man’s first time had been as spectacular as his own and by the sound of it, it seemed sex was quite a letdown in general in regard to any repeat performances there had been.

“It doesn’t happen like in the romance novels or movies the first time, well, mine weren’t” said Greg “My first time with a woman I’d just got inside her and it was all over then and there, she was not happy. My first time with a man was terrible, he was older and thought he was a bit of a stud…..I had to argue with him to wear a condom, foreplay didn’t figure much in his vocabulary and he was more interested in notching up having a virgin on his bedpost so the experience was painful, messy and embarrassing…..rather like a bad porn movie really”

Mike leaned back against the doorway and looked at Greg.

“I am not interested in females sexually so there will never be a first time with that gender” said Mike grimacing “My first time was abysmal, the second time little better…….no, nothing like the sexual experiences of those so artfully written in novels where being buggered is portrayed as quite simply divine”

“Perhaps you are more suited to topping” said Greg trying to be helpful “Being buggered by someone who does it right IS quite simply divine”

Mike’s cheeks went pink.

“No, my preference is definitely opposite though at some time in the future I daresay I will top at least once to see why it is a favoured preference” said the young man. “So by your statement are you not strictly a top like most males seem to prefer?”

Greg grinned.

“I’m one of the ones that enjoy both ways equally” said Greg.

For a few moments there was silence between them and Mike stayed where he was, clearly Greg was going to have to make the first move.

Greg closed the small gap between them, they were the same height so it was easy for him just to lean in with his head and press his lips to the younger mans’ mouth gently. He vowed that the young man would walk out of his room having been thoroughly made love to and satisfied; at 24 he had been around the tracks enough to be a considerate lover. Some men out there were selfish bastards who cared little for their partner’s pleasure, male or female, but he found enjoyment in feeling, hearing and seeing a partner take pleasure in what he gave or took.

It was evident after a few seconds that Mike was not inexperienced when it came to kissing. Their mouths fit together perfectly without that awkwardness of kissing someone new, in fact, he was a very good kisser. Greg snaked an arm around the waist of the younger man and a hand ran over his hair as Greg dipped his tongue inside Mike’s mouth tasting brandy and cigarettes on the tongue that curled around his.

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed kissing so much, sensual was the word he would use to describe kissing with the younger man and they both took their time to leisurely investigate one anothers teeth, lips and tongues.

Eventually he needed to come up for some air and reluctantly broke the kiss. Mike gazed at him, his breathing as erratic as Greg’s as he ran his tongue over his slightly swollen bottom lip. Yeah, he was very glad he had decided to ask Mike back to his room….he was fucking gorgeous and his cock agreed with him.

Greg pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside. Blue eyes dropped to his bared chest and Greg took the young man’s hand to lead him over to the bed. With nimble Greg opened the buttons on the front of the waistcoat, tucking the chain to the small pocket that held the pocket watch then removed the gold cufflinks from the holes at the young man’s wrists, they too joined the pocket watch. He hung the waistcoat on the back of the only chair in the room.

“I’ve never taken a man out of a suit before” said Greg. 

“Is it bothersome?” asked Mike, breath hitching as Greg smoothed his hands down the front of the crisply pressed shirt that was very soft in comparison to his own shirt.

“No, I feel like I am unwrapping you” said Greg before kneeling down and unlacing the black leather shoes that looked like they cost more money than he earned in 6 months and tucked the equally expensive socks inside them once they were both removed. 

He couldn’t resist snatching another kiss as he rose again, his fingers quickly made short work of the tiny buttons on the white shirt and he let that fall to the floor so he could cup the back of the young man’s head lightly to keep their lips together and drew him along to he lay back on the bed, shuffling up towards the pillows so Mike knelt above him, knees either side of his hips and his hands either side of Greg’s head. 

Breaking their kiss Mike sat back on Greg’s thighs, his cheeks going a ruddy red of either shyness or embarrassment. He was pale skinned and freckled with a chest lightly furred with ginger hair. Mike was not fat but nor was he skinny, he lacked muscle definition suggesting he wasn't sporty and had a small chubby stomach that had been cleverly hidden under the cut of his waistcoat. 

Greg didn’t subscribe to the stupid stereotypes of body images. He kept himself fit because of his job; running after perps, jumping gates and fences required a level of good fitness. His older sister Stephanie had always been heavy and had remained so into adulthood, he had gotten into numerous fights protecting her from nasty bullies as kids. 

Greg sat up, carded a hand into the young mans carroty coloured hair and kissed the base of his throat while sliding his other hand across the skin of his back. Mike smelled of sweet, but subtly spiced cologne and was shivering at the simple touches. Drawing his fingers up the line of the younger man’s spine, the feather-like touch made Mike arch his back with an indrawn breath. Goosebumps broke out across the silky skin under his fingers and when he trailed his tongue across a delicate collarbone to taste the slightly salty warm flesh, the younger man gasped softly. He was very sensitive and very responsive suggesting the coming evening was going to be extremely enjoyable


	3. Coming Act I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft didn't expect to find himself in a dingy hotel with a gorgeous older man when he'd gone out that evening.

Mycroft could scarcely believe he was in this poky cheap room; it was a world away from the luxurious Hotel Martinez he’d left earlier in the evening where he would still be if his 11 year old brother hadn’t been acting like an utter brat. He dearly loved Sherlock but there were times the child infuriated him so he’d stomped out of the resort and left Mummy to deal with him otherwise he might just smother the little swine with a pillow.

He’d visited a few drinking establishments before he’d walked into La Salle de Jazz and within a few moments an intoxicated moron too drunk to see where he was walking tripped over and crashed into him which in turn had caused him to assault a man standing at the bar. For a moment he’d been a little scared that the man at the bar would take exception to the assault on his person and the spillage of his drink but it seemed he was not the type to swing with his fists, rather, he’d sent the drunk on his way and accepted Mycroft’s apology.

In just a few seconds he had deduced the man was in his mid-twenties, possibly English but of French background, was on holiday, came from the lower working classes, was recently singled and bisexual. Reading which profession he was in more difficult, not that it mattered. He was utterly gorgeous. Floppy dark brown hair almost matched the colour of his lovely dark chocolate coloured eyes. Clad in simple denim jeans, blue boat shoes and a plain navy blue short sleeved shirt he could see that the man kept himself in shape and the way his eyes skimmed over Mycroft there was a definite suggestion of sexual interest in him.

He knew the name Jaren was a lie, but then Mycroft had not given his correct name either, only his mother called him Myc or Mikey which irritated him no end, was it really so hard to struggle to the end and call him by his first name? Protecting one’s identity was wise these days given the assaults that were frequented upon homosexuals. Seeking out those who were of similar persuasion was difficult and fraught with peril since the advent of the disease that society was currently blaming on gay people. Though he’d only been sexually active twice, he’d ensured that both times a condom had been worn.

His deductions had proved correct when Jaren had first confirmed he was indeed bisexual, then, secondly when he’d given his hotel and room number before leaving. Mycroft had stood stunned for several minutes at the invitation issued so quickly before getting up to leave. He then walked the streets for a while undecided as to whether to go to the hotel, his safety wasn’t an issue for the older man wasn’t a danger but would the sex be any different with this man or as disappointing as it had been in the past?

The first time he had thought by choosing a much older man to have sex with he would be experienced and considerate. How wrong he had been. He had expected the loss of his virginity to not be comfortable, but not to be that bloody painful and over in less than a minute though that was probably a good thing since his arse had felt like he’d been split open and stung.

The second time he’d slept with a fellow at Uni who was firmly in the closet. That experience had not been any different. It had hurt like the first time, there was little pleasure and once again it was over quickly. He’d been left unsatisfied and disillusioned by it all and on his walk decided he would try again but if a third time was like the previous two times he just wouldn’t bother again and stick to masturbation.

Asking him if he was a virgin wasn’t because the man was looking for an ego trip to be the first; rather, it appeared the older man had little interest in bedding virgins. The man had at least bothered to ask him if maybe he wanted to top and though he wasn’t much interested in doing the buggering he was thankful that at least this man didn’t just presume he’d present his arse to be mounted.

He also at least bothered to kiss him for more than a few seconds and not just want to get to the fucking part. There had been a boy in the village back at home that had been more than happy to fool around kissing but didn’t want to go any further so he’d plenty of practice at that. Mycroft liked to kiss, not only did he find it erotic but it was personal since it showed feeling. Jaren was a lovely kisser and didn’t act like it was a perfunctory token act that was a nuisance. Far, far better than the hurried sloppy mashing of lips and thrusting of tongues he had previously endured in his last two experiences. He smelled nice despite the fact he wore no cologne that Mycroft could detect, but there was a natural musky scent about him that was pleasant as well as the soap and deodorant he wore. 

He was very nervous once Jaren had removed the blue shirt, it was plainly obvious the man had a flat stomach and was quite muscular. Mycroft knew he was chubby, a fact pointed out by Sherlock constantly who called him Fatcroft. He tried to diet but Mummy’s cakes and treats were so delicious that he couldn’t help himself, and then at Uni they had gorgeous college puddings, treacle tarts and the like to tempt him. He could hardly cover himself up and once on the bed feared seeing disgust in those lovely dark eyes that looked at his flaws but the man’s expression that didn’t register anything negative about his lack of manly attributes, pudgy stomach and awful freckled skin.

Jaren leaned up and Mycroft shivered at the slight pressure of lips to the skin on the base of his throat. A hand combed through the back of his hair and he hoped Jaren couldn’t feel the involuntary trembling of both his nervous fear and eagerness at trying having sex again but dreaded facing such a disappointment again. 

Though the fingers barely skimmed, the feathery touch up the middle of his back made him shiver but when a tongue licked the skin on his collarbone with a slow deliberateness he gasped at the intimacy. Mycroft closed his eyes as a rough calloused hand caressed his shoulders with gentleness as though he were made of delicate porcelain,….there was no crude pawing at him like a brute but careful handling. 

Lips closed over the skin above his pulse and gently sucked, he knew it would leave a mark that would show whatever concern he felt about it fled when the hand drifted over his shoulder to his chest and a thumb brushed over his right nipple. He’d touched his own nipples when masturbating, and the second time he’d had sex they’d been pinched which had been mildly pleasant but bordering on too rough but the slight contact of Jarens thumb made him shudder and suck in his breath.

“Do you like that?” murmured Jaren, nosing his throat

“Yes” said Mycroft quietly "Very much so"

Dark eyes regarded him as once again his thumb stroked across his taut and pointed nipple. Mycroft shuddered, biting his lip to stop an embarrassing sound that threatened to come out.

“No, don’t ever be afraid to articulate what you do and don’t like to a lover” said Jaren “A good lover listens to what their partner wants and needs, if I can’t hear you then I don’t know if I am pleasing you or not” 

“The noises people make engaging in sexual acts sound ridiculous, I don’t want to sound ridiculous” murmured Mycroft.

“Hey, you do not sound ridiculous” asserted Jaren “You sound very, very sexy”

Before he could answer that Jaren leaned up to flick his tongue across his right nipple, it seemed impossible but his already hard cock grew even harder. Fingers plucked at his left nipple and a tongue kitten licked at the other sending little shocks from his nipples directly to his cock, the sounds he made couldn’t possibly sound sexy….teeth bit gently and he was quite sure the sound he made was more like a mewling cat perhaps…..bloody hell, he was quite sure he could reach orgasm this way alone with that talented mouth. Hands fumbled with his belt, button and zipper before they were tugged down with his underpants. The cheeks of his arse were grasped and large hands squeezed them both.

“Please…” his mouth engaged before his brain and he cringed inwardly at how needy how pathetic he must sound wanting the emptiness in his arse filled….. Christ, he sounded like an utter slut.

“Soon Sunshine, I’m in no hurry to take you” the older man said huskily “I want to make you come with my mouth first then slowly open your body before I make love to you”

Mycroft fell back on the bed at a soft push. Jaren made short work of pulling both his trousers and underpants off. Without preamble his knees were pushed apart and he felt his face grow hot as dark eyes fell to his cock that was standing up. He threw an arm across his face to hide the blotchy red colour it must be, feeling horribly exposed now he was completely naked. 

He’d tried oral sex the first time he’d had sex and had nearly thrown up as the man pushed it in his mouth too far making him gag several times, plus the taste of piss on him hadn’t been pleasant, neither man had made any move to perform oral sex on him. His heart hammered in his chest feeling that gaze upon him and Mycroft opened his mouth intending to cease proceedings but only a shocked gasp came out as his cock was enveloped in moist heat.

Rational thought escaped him; he could only choke out moans he tried to muffle with his arm and lifted his hips to thrust into that delectable mouth sliding up and down his cock like a velvet glove. Dear God he had died and gone to heaven........and was going to shame himself by ejaculating so quickly and groaned loudly to try to hold it back not wanting it over yet. 

The pressure of a thumb on the base of his cock kept his orgasm at bay, he moved his arm away off his face both gasping in oxygen while moaning then reached down to grasp a handful dark brown hair not really giving a flying fuck about how damn red his face was or that he sounded like a tart, only focused at that moment on those gorgeous lips making him feel so good. 

He clutched at the nubbly blanket on top of the bed with his other hand moaning and panting as hands held his hips down firmly and suddenly he was coming as Jarens face pressed into his groin and took him down his throat, he couldn't help crying out at the waves of pleasure rolling over and over him.


	4. Coming Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg shows Mike what a good lover does

Greg let now softening cock fall from his mouth and licked off the last little pearl that appeared in the slit. For someone who had been concerned about sounding ridiculous Mike had sure been vocal enough in his enjoyment that had probably been heard throughout the entire hotel and out the open door.

Mike lay still, eyes closed trembling and panting like he’d run a marathon. 

“OK there?” he asked after a minute had elapsed in silence and Mike’s breathing had returned to normal.  


"That was……I can’t even verbalise an appropriate adjective at the moment” murmured Mike “Definitely worthy of a cigarette” 

Greg chuckled then wiped his mouth on the blanket before he got up to fetch his smokes and an ashtray. Greg lit a cigarette and held it out; Mike rolled onto his stomach and took it from him. His hair was now a riot of curls around his head, like his ginger pubes and freckles Greg thought they were adorable.

“I love your hair, it’s a gorgeous colour” said Greg sitting on the side of the bed.

Mike wrinkled his nose.

“Other people don’t seem to have that same opinion” remarked Mike “If I had a pound for every time I’ve been called a derogatory name relating to my hair colour I could retire already”

“People can be rude twats” said Greg thinking of his sister and the shit she had endured out of people “You just have to rise above the crap and ignore it”

“Quite” said Mike simply “Can you teach me how to perform fellatio?”

Greg snorted again; nobody called it fellatio where he came from.

“You want me to teach you how to give a blow job?” he asked then shrugged “Sure”

Greg propped his smoke between his lips then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them off along with his jocks and tossed them aside.

Mike stared at his cock, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“Problem with my cock?” asked Greg self-consciously looking down at cock critically.

Mikes cock was maybe an inch longer but his own was much thicker than the younger man’s slender one. Greg thought the fact he wasn’t circumcised like Mike might be an issue…..some guys preferred a cut cock. He’d never had complaints about it before though.

“Just, uh, bigger than I’ve had previously bugger me” said Mike taking a large drag of his cigarette. 

“Mike, any cock up the arse is not a picnic at first, but I promise you, with a considerate lover it is well worth some discomfort” said Greg truthfully “You ask me to slow down or stop then I will stop immediately…..by the same token if I think you are in pain or not enjoying it I will stop because I have little interest in one sided pleasure”

Mike seemed to consider this as he finished the last drag in the cigarette and stubbed it out.

“Fine” said the younger man “Now come back to bed and instruct me on….blow jobs”

Greg snorted again and lay down on the bed shoving a pillow under his head. 

“Just do what you think and I’ll offer commentary” he said. 

Mike shifted round and positioned himself half laying across his thighs, his soft hand grasped his cock and retracting the foreskin back. Greg groaned as Mycroft took him in his mouth and licked his tongue across the tip but his inexperience was evident as he clumsily began to suck him, teeth snagging on his flesh that made Greg yelp.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry……” spluttered Mike, cheeks going red embarrassment.

“S’ok, just try to cover the teeth a bit with your lips” said Greg “Practice makes perfect”

Mike tentatively went back to his task and a Greg relaxed when teeth didn’t make an appearance again.

“Good, suck a little harder and press with your tongue” said Greg encouragingly watching the teenagers cheeks hollow as he created more suction “Now, wank me a bit, that’s good.....very good”

Greg bit his lip, fuck if Mike didn’t look gorgeous with his lips stretched around his cock. He carded a hand into the sunshiny curls and rested it there as his head bobbed up and down. Blue eyes lifted to look up at him and Greg nodded approvingly with another groan as a tongue circled round the head of his cock.

“Yeah, like that……” said Greg nodding and sucking in his breath.

Mikes confidence grew and his movements became quicker and more refined and Greg let him know with his moans that his first time giving a blow job was sure as heck doing it for him. After only a couple of minutes Greg reluctantly asked for him to stop, he didn’t want to come yet and if Mike kept enthusiastically sucking away at him it would be over in moments.

“Bloody hell you are a quick learner” said Greg and kissed the younger man to taste himself on his lips and tongue “Get comfortable while I get the supplies”

Mike shifted over and dragged a pillow under him as he lay on his stomach. Greg delved into the draw beside the bed for the baby oil and a condom. Crawling up over the top of the teenager Greg kissed the nape of his neck and slowly pressed kisses down along his spine, he could feel the tension in his body; the younger man was as tightly wound as a spring. Greg stroked a hand up the back of each pale freckled thigh and drew circles with his tongue across his shoulders and back trying to ease his nervousness.

Greg knew he liked his arse being touched, that wanton plea earlier spoke volumes…………Greg understood that desire, the aching need to have the emptiness filled, he himself had craved having his arse stuffed full of cock at times.

Mike moaned burying the sound in a pillow as Greg gripped his arse cheeks in his hands and he fondled them for several moments loving the perfectly shaped globes of pale freckled flesh and the cute dimples above them. He pulled them apart to gaze at the wrinkled puckered skin he exposed and God if that didn’t just begged to be tasted as well.

Mike clenched his arse in shock when he poked his tongue at the furled pink rose.

“W…what are you d…doing, that’s unsanitary” stammered Mike in shock lifting his head from the pillow.

“What does it look like I’m doing……and it’s no more unsanitary than sucking on someone’s cock” said Greg.

He pulled his arse cheeks apart again and stroked his tongue over the wrinkled opening.

“Oh my God” moaned Mike shuddering. 

Mike made no protest, rather he buried his face into the pillow to muffle the sounds he made lifting his arse a little. Greg grasped and lifted his hips from the bed and nudged his knees apart so he was arse up, his cock dangled down only half hard but he was quite sure that would soon be remedied.

Mike pushed his arse back into his face while Greg got acquainted with the musky scent and flavour of the man who was clearly enjoying the act he’d deemed unsanitary……it was something he had no qualms about doing but had rarely done with either male or female, his decision to do so was spur of the moment and the way Mike was reacting he was glad he had done so.

The younger man was trembling again when he reluctantly pulled away. He snapped open the bottle of oil to coat his fingers and the redhead hissed at the cool liquid as Greg drizzled a little down the saliva slicked crease. He stroked Mike’s bum, petting and massaging the oil into the sensitive flesh that had loosened a little with the tongue play and slid his middle finger into the channel. 

Greg bit his lip at the grip around his finger, god it was so tight in there he almost wondered if he’d been lied to and Mike was in fact a virgin. The younger man didn’t strike him as a liar though, and he had dealt with plenty of liars in his line of work and had no reason not to believe him when he said he wasn’t a virgin but simply just inexperienced.

“Okay there?” asked Greg after he added a second finger.

“Yes….you are most meticulous, aren’t you?” murmured Mike against the pillow.

Greg frowned, he knew what Mike was going to say if he questioned him but asked anyway.

“Your other lovers weren’t meticulous in preparing you?” asked Greg.

“They were more rushed….I see now they were careless and absorbed in only seeking their own pleasure” admitted Mike “This is very different with you, the discomfort is minimal at best so far”

“Well I would much prefer to have you feeling only mild discomfort than to lay there in silent pain thinking I’m just another selfish tosser getting ready to ream your arse and couldn’t care less” said Greg “Besides, when you’ve been on the receiving end yourself like that you tend to spare someone else that kind of ordeal”

“It’s nice to know there are some gentleman out there” said Mike “I would…..FUCK…..!”

Greg grinned at the shouted profanity as the younger man jerked like he’d been electrocuted as he curled his fingers inside him, even the posh types could have a filthy mouth and it sounded hilarious.

“Women crap on about the power of the pussy, too bad many don’t know how much power they could wield doing this” said Greg making Mike jerk and swear again knowing exactly how good that felt.

“Ugh….female genitals hold no power over me though keep that up and I may be under your thrall forever” breathed Mike.

“Just the start of it, baby” said Greg who would like nothing more to have a pretty young man like Mike in his bed on a regular basis.

Mike groaned, tensing up as he began to open him with a third finger but didn’t ask him to stop. He worked very slowly to fit another digit next to the other two into the tight channel adding more oil to ensure there was plenty of lubrication. It was only when his three fingers moved freely in and out and the young man had relaxed that he removed his fingers. 

Mike gripped the blanket hearing Greg open the condom wrapper.

“Do you mind if we don’t do it this way, I really don’t want to….bad association” said Mike.

“We can do it any way you want to” said Greg as he rolled on the condom and coated it with the oil. 

The younger man turned over onto his back, face going pink as Greg moved between his legs. He wedged one of the pillows under the younger man’s hips after lifting his legs up into his elbows.

“Okay I’m going to go easy and slow” said Greg rolling Mikes pelvis upwards “Breathe and bear down on me”

Greg put the tip of his cock to the slightly puffy and loosened hole and pushed forward carefully.

Mike immediately stiffened up as soon as there was resistance.

“C’mon honey, I need you to relax or this isn’t going to work” said Greg encouragingly stopping immediately.

Mike swallowed audibly then relaxed a little breathing out. Greg tried again, pushing against the resistance with tiny gentle thrusts. Mike tensed up, face creasing with a whimper as his cock breached the outer ring of muscle and stretched to accommodate his girth. 

Greg froze holding still.

“That’s it, baby, relax and breathe…….just a little more discomfort and then it’s gonna be great I promise” reassured Greg. 

“Ok, keep going” breathed Mike after a few moments.

Centimetre by centimetre Greg patiently encouraged Mike who closed his eyes, panted and clutched the blanket for dear life. Sweat dripped from Greg, and Mike’s skin was shiny with perspiration from the exertion. He had no idea how much time passed before he was completely inside Mike’s body which hugged his cock tightly.

Greg wiped his forehead on his shoulder

“Are you okay?” he asked Mike had opened his eyes and gazed up at him.

“Yes, just…….please be gentle” pleaded Mike.

Greg leaned down and kissed him. Slowly he pulled almost all the way out and Mike turned his head away hissing as he pushed back inside him.

“Relax, just relax Mike” he said kissing the teenagers cheek and moving inside him again.

Mikes hands grabbed his biceps, fingers digging in at his internal muscles burning with the stretching of his muscles and dragging friction of his cock. On the fifth slide inside him he knew that burning had abated, the friction becoming a mingled pleasure and pain…..on the sixth slide there was no tenseness at all in Mike and the younger man turned his head back to look up at Greg again in silent surprise.

“That’s it, now lay back and enjoy gorgeous” said Greg with a grin.

He pulled nearly all the way out then slid up to the hilt into that deliciously tight arse, fucking him slowly and gently still.

“It’s good…..very good” exclaimed Mike wriggling his hips experimentally.

“Gets even better, baby” answered Greg.

Greg began to thrust into the completely relaxed teenager with more vigour making their skin slap together with each cant of his hips.

Mikes mouth fell open with a gasp; eyes going wide.

Fuck, it felt fantastic, it had been far too long since he’d taken a man…..so different from fucking a woman…..more primal and animalistic……he grunted each time he bottomed out in Mikes body that felt like velvet heat.

The younger man writhed under him, moaning loudly and now clutching at his shoulders

“Feel good?” asked Greg with a groan “Doesn’t that feel quite simply divine, baby?”

“Yes, oh yes” panted Mike “Harder, please take me harder”

Greg moved his arms letting Mikes long legs fall and braced himself either side of the younger mans head. Mike planted his feet on the mattress and spread his legs wider.

For what seemed an eternity Greg plunged hard into the gasping, writhing body under him that met him thrust for thrust. The younger man was completely absorbed in being fucked and Greg couldn’t help but feel some pride at knowing that although he wasn’t the first to have Mike, he was the first to see him completely undone and would be the first to make him come with a cock inside him like he’d been the first to make him come with his mouth.

“Yeah, you like my cock buried deep in your beautiful arse don’t you Mike” said Greg bending his head to lick a dribble of sweat that rolled down the neck of the younger man before sucking to add another mark to the pale freckled flesh. 

He pulled out completely, shifted his knees to change their position then slid right back into the tight warmth making Mike jerk and throw his head back with a shriek of pleasure as Greg nailed the sweet spot inside him.

“Those other idiots had no idea how to fuck you properly, did they Chéri?” growled Greg hissing at the skin that was scratched off his shoulders “Come for me, baby”

As Mike drew nearer to his orgasm he got even louder as Greg reached between them, growing almost impossibly tight around his length when he took hold of the slender weeping cock to pump it. The silence was almost deafening as Mike suddenly went quiet and arched up off the bed. It seemed as if his entire being was consumed in the throes of his orgasm. Greg panted harshly, watching Mike's body shake as it convulsed and clenched spilling more come over his fingers and painting Greg's belly. 

Greg joined him, toes curling and swearing at the intensity of his own orgasm that left him stunned and trembling at the force of it.

Greg slumped next to Mike thoroughly wrung out after taking care of the filled condom which he plopped on the bedside table. After a moment he curled an arm around the waist of the younger man and drew him closer hoping he would stay the night.

He had no idea how long he had dozed off for but woke to blue eyes gazing at his face and a hand stroking his cock. 

Wordlessly he lifted his head meeting the lips of of the redhead who quickly rolled on top of him, long slender cock already hard against his thigh and now more self-confident in making the first move for more.


	5. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men in the same city lead lonely lives.

London 2008

*Mycroft*

He was shattered. A week with little sleep due to not one but two scandals, one involving the Royal Family with accusations a minor royal had fathered twin boys with a mistress and the other due to a House of Lords minister not being discreet enough and being found out about his numerous involvements with rent boys at the expense of the hard working taxpayer.

This was on top of searching for his wayward younger brother who had disappeared into London’s extensive homeless network yet again and was successfully evading detection. He didn’t know if his sanity would survive another incident with Sherlock and his penchant for drugs……or Mummy’s despair at her youngest son trying to put himself into an early grave.

Mycroft was thankful when he could finally go home, slumping into the back of his car for the short drive home to his home.. He thanked his personal driver as he always did; it had been Richard tonight who thankfully never tried to make small talk despite having driven him around for a number of years. It was a relief once he closed the door to his home behind him, grateful for the blessed silence. Putting his briefcase and umbrella in his private office he went to the kitchen and got a glass of water before going upstairs to his room.

Placing the glass of water on the bedside table along with his phone he took out his pyjamas from behind his pillow and went to the bathroom. He undressed and had a quick shower before donning his pyjamas then brushed his teeth. 

Mycroft grimaced at his reflection….the receding hairline coloured with a dark auburn to hide the carroty orange colour, the numerous freckles dotting his face and the curls that now fluffed up wildly with no product to smooth them flat.

“Fat ugly ginger” murmured Mycroft repeating phrases his ex-husband used to spit at him “Freckled fat fucker”

He mustn’t think of David. David was dead and buried. Mycroft firmly shoved those thoughts from his mind as he left the bathroom and turned back his quilt.

Lying down he got comfortable under the quilt and closed his eyes, very glad he was so tired that he would fall asleep quickly instead of brooding upon how desperately lonely he was and the evils of the past.

*Greg*

It had been a long hard day at work that had ended with him completing three hours of paperwork in his own time before leaving to go home to Dagenham, sometimes he would have preferred to stay at New Scotland Yard where there was noise and life twenty four hours a day. 

As usual the house was empty and silent, a note scrawled on the kitchen bench informed him Caroline had gone to some party plan thing with work people and would be back late.

After changing into jeans and a t-shirt Greg cracked a lager and made himself a couple of cheese and tomato sandwiches then channel surfed the tele looking for something to watch tossing the remote control aside as his phone rang and Jassie flashed up on the caller ID.

“Hello Petal” he said smiling into the phone.

“Hey Dad, whatcha up to?” asked his daughter.

“Just knocked off work honey so a beer, tele and a couple of sandwiches” he said to his daughter who tutted.

“Mum out again, huh?” asked Jasmine “She’s not answering her phone either”

“Yeah well, when she gets together with those gaggling bunch of women at work its little wonder they hear anything over their own voices” commented Greg remembering the time Caroline had held a Tupperware party. He’d retreated to the pub to get away from the noise. “Looking forward to seeing you for Easter break”

“Uh, not sure if I will be home more than a day or so…….a bunch of us at Uni are possibly organising a trip to Spain” said Jasmine

“Oh, well ok, that sounds great” said Greg trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Jasmine was 19, going on 20 and could do what she wanted, still, it was hard when they had flown the nest and were living their own lives. He’d wished for more children but Caroline had refused to have any more after Jasmine who had been conceived after a drunken night out that he barely remembered. She had never wanted children. Of course, he had married Caroline when she had contacted him to tell him she was pregnant with his child not long after he had returned from France.

Within 5 years he regretted having married her, though Jasmine was the light of his life and he had fallen head over heels in love with her the moment she was born. Any whispered questions about paternity of Jasmine were nipped in the bud as Jasmine looked like him rather than her Mother and also had his temperament. Their marriage was all but in name these days. He suspected she had affairs but Greg remained faithful to her and the vows of marriage he took, plus he was too old and tired to go catting around. 

Thus he lived a life of long working hours, the few evenings down at the pub to watch rugby, soccer or have a beer with the lads or alone on the couch watching tele, drinking too much and falling asleep there.

After Jasmine’s call he cracked another beer wondering how his life would have turned out had he not married Caroline and chosen to be a part time Dad to Jasmine instead. His career would be no different, he was where he wanted to be as a Sergeant, he’d worked bloody hard to get where he was and hoped to make Inspector within a few more years.

Greg drained his beer and got up to get another. He’d never envisioned living such a lonely life at only 44. Aside from Jasmine, he wished he could change the past and have someone to come home to that he loved and loved him in return. It would be nice to share dinner, talk, cuddle up in bed and have sex at least once a week. There were days he woke up and swore he was going to just walk away, but felt guilty about saddling Jasmine having to go between two homes.

Four beers later he was asleep on the couch, television talking to itself and unaware of his wife sneaking in the house at 2am smelling of another mans cologne.


	6. Overdose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overdose by a junkie brings 'Jaren' and 'Mike' together once more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for drug use and overdose

St Barts 2008

*Greg*

Greg yawned. He hated stakeouts, sitting around for hours on end was mind numbingly boring but they were on the verge of taking down a big time drug supplier who had been dealing bad shit through the various smack houses around the seedier parts of London that had been killing junkies. His snout had tipped him off to a deal going down that night; it was just a matter of waiting.

“Oi, don’t nod off!” his partner for the night, Constable Dean Fletcher was just a kid really but eager to do his job……it only seemed like yesterday he was that eager Constable.

“Not nodding off……just resting my eyes for a moment” protested Greg as it neared 4am. 

Greg just about jumped out of his skin as a thud sounded on the back of the car. He got out warily finding a grotty looking homeless man leaning against the car, even in the dim lighting Greg could see from his eyes and spaced out look he was off his face on something.

“He’s been and gone, are you blind?” said the man in a posh voice “You’ve wasted the last two hours sitting here…..what must it be like to be so utterly stupid?”

“Why don’t you move on mate or I’ll have to arrest you……..” snarled his Constable.

“The dealer you are looking for has come and gone already, right under your idiotic little noses” repeated the man interrupting the Constable who swore under his breath angrily.

“How do you……” began Greg taken aback when the homeless man who had been waving his arms about animatedly as he spoke suddenly crumpled down onto the pavement. 

Cautiously he approached the dark haired man who lay unmoving, it could be a ruse to jump him but as Greg knelt down beside the smelly young man it was quite obvious it was no ruse at all when he shook him and got no response whatsoever.

“Be careful, guv……not telling what these junkies might do” said Constable Fletcher worriedly.

Greg felt for a pulse on his neck not wanting to put his hands under the sleeves of a drug addicts coat without a pair of gloves. It was very weak but there was a thready pulse under the almost white, translucent skin.

“Call dispatch and get an ambulance Constable” he hissed over his shoulder to his colleague.

Greg manoeuvred the ridiculously light man over into the coma position just in case he vomited and kept his fingers on his pulse.

“Four to eight minutes, guv” said Constable Fletcher.

He grimaced, the junkie would be lucky if he lasted that long at the rate his pulse was rapidly weakening.

The Constable cautiously took over searching pockets for any identification and the light of his torch found a surprisingly expensive looking wallet in an inside pocket of the overcoat and opened it.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, no drivers licence, just a banking card” said Constable Fletcher

“Four hundred quid in cash”

“Four hundred quid?” repeated Greg “Maybe he deals the merchandise as well as uses”

That was a lot of money to be carrying around by someone who by all appearances was living on the streets, it made sense he was likely dealing too then. But his voice had been upper class; he was definitely a posh one…..or had been; he looked to be in his mid to late twenties and was very underweight and malnourished.

The pulse under his fingers suddenly stopped and Greg swore, leaning down to listen swearing again when it was evident the young man had stopped breathing. He rolled the limp body onto its back and began Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation, the years of training kicking in automatically…..he was so very underweight and malnourished that Greg worried about breaking his sternum or ribs which jutted, outlined under the thin dirty t-shirt under the coat.

“Probably taken some bad stuff; could be a waste of time trying to save him guv” said Constable Fletcher making no move to help him.

“It’s never a waste of time trying to save a life” snapped Greg disgusted with the Constable’s attitude “A junkie is someone’s son, someone’s brother and someone’s father…… all lives are valuable and worth saving…..get down here and help”

“Ain’t no way I’m putting my mouth anywhere near him” said the Constable in revulsion.

With that attitude he wasn’t going to let the useless waste of space near his chest to break bones with careless compressions.

“Fine, fuck off you useless twat” swore Greg moving his hands from the thin chest, tilted the junkies head back, grasped his chin and pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth.

It seemed like an eternity before he heard sirens and an ambulance pulling up. He quite gladly handed the young man over to paramedics who worked their magic with drugs and a defibrillator. They had little trouble in bringing the junkie back to life, both heartbeat and breathing restored.

“He’s very lucky, if you hadn’t been around to do CPR he’d probably be dead, we’re taking him to St Barts” said one of the paramedics as they prepared the homeless man for transport. 

He was still unconscious but Greg could see he was breathing fine as the oxygen mask fogged up with his breaths. Such a bloody waste.

The ambulance left, sirens blaring into the early morning. It seemed the junkie had been right, the night had been a waste of time and somehow the dealer they were after had slipped past them…… he needed to follow up with his snout and find out if the dealer had been tipped off about their presence…..more importantly he wanted to question the junkie further about what he knew about the dealer. 

First though he needed to tear his Constable a new arsehole, put him on report then he would go home and catch a few hours shut-eye.

*Mycroft*

When the call came at 5.27am he had hoped it was work. It was far preferable to be called in to have to deal with thwarting terrorist attacks or organising assassinations than receiving the call he always dreaded. Thankfully the Grim Reaper had once again been denied whisking his brother off to become another denizen of death. Third time lucky but he had no illusions that one day luck would run out and it would be the morgue he would be called to in order to identify the body of his brother.

Within half an hour he was on his way to St Bart's, he would call Mummy when he’d had a chance to appraise the information and situation. He wrinkled his nose as he entered the hospital, he disliked hospitals…..the smells of disinfectant and antiseptic sterility brought with it unhappy memories of past times he would rather forget and had indeed tried to delete……it seemed despite his intellect which far exceeded that of his younger brother that only his sibling was capable of deleting unwanted aspects of his life from his mind.

He enquired at an information desk where he might find his brother and then navigated the lifts and corridors to the floor and room number he was given. Mycroft grimaced at the state of Sherlock. No doubt his clothes had been taken and condemned to a Hazmat bag given just the hospital gown and linen covered his nakedness. He was so pale, the blue veins under his skin were visible and it appeared little food had passed his brothers lips given how gaunt and thin he looked. Thankfully at least his brother had the good sense to use clean needles each time he shot up, there were fresh track marks on his arms but they would heal over with minimal scarring.

Mycroft went to the side of the bed and clasped Sherlocks cool hand in his and for probably the thousandth time lamented on where he had gone wrong with his younger brother. He loved his brother, would do anything for him and worried about him constantly but Sherlock took great pleasure in throwing that back in his face. Once again Sherlock would be difficult to deal with when Mycroft would have him placed in drug rehab to get clean. Though it pained him no end he could hardly be a hypocrite and slam Sherlock for his addiction when he too had once found addictions though for different reasons.

He pressed a kiss to his brother’s forehead and sat down in a semi-comfortable chair to wait for Sherlock to wake up. He called his PA Anthea to clear his appointments for the day and bring him any files that needed attending to, then he called Mummy wincing at her distress and assuring her that Sherlock would be well taken care of though he knew both his parents would be in London before the day’s end. When Anthea arrived she had brought him tea, croissants and a pile of files to keep him occupied, returning later in the day with more tea, sandwiches, laptop and informed him of a place in a private rehab centre in London that was more than happy to take Sherlock at short notice….once offered a higher fee of course for their trouble.

It was nearly 3pm when Mycroft ducked outside to a smoking area and indulged in a much needed cigarette. It was a habit he tried to indulge in as little as possible since it didn’t agree with his constitution very well but it was one of the lesser evils of vices out there. He picked up a cup of tea from the cafeteria which was a far cry from his Fortnum & Masons Earl Grey blend he favoured but the milky weak beverage was better than nothing.

Upon arriving back at Sherlocks room he found a man inside with his back to the door by the side of his brother’s bed. His dark grey suit was rumpled, the black shoes scuffed and the dark tidy short hair was liberally peppered with silvery highlights. 

"May I help you?” he asked the intruder coolly.

The man turned around at his question to look at him. 

All thoughts of possible drug dealer or dubious character disappeared as Mycroft made only one deduction….mid 40’s, before his mind skidded to a halt in its analysis as he looked into warm brown eyes. He recognised the man immediately despite 20 years having passed and he spoke the word without even thinking such was his surprise at finding him in this room.

“Jaren?”


	7. The past and present colllide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St Barts, 2008 at the bedside of a junkie

*Greg*

“Jaren?”

Greg stared at the man who stood in the doorway to the room of the junkie. Almost immediately he placed the man who had used his middle name……. transported back to that cheap room in Cannes 20 years ago….warm, balmy and with the scent of the sea breezing into the open window….making love on that lumpy bed with its revolting coloured bedspread many times before the dawn broke……that had been the last time he’d slept with a man…..or anyone other than Caroline in fact since it was only a few weeks before he’d been told he was going to be a father.

He was a few inches taller than Greg now and very slender under the tailored moss green suit that he wore which smacked of Bond Street tailors. The longish carroty coloured curly hair was now a dark-reddish brown cropped fashionably short at the back and sides and combed neatly though was thinning and hairline at the front had receded.

“Mycroft”

Blue eyes darted from staring at Greg to the junkie on the bed who murmured in a rough voice. Mycroft? Ah, hence the shortened Myc, so he wasn’t the only one who had not used a proper name that night.

Attention was diverted from Greg to the man whom Mycroft immediately went to and lifted the straw in the small cup he picked up off the trolley table at the end of the bed to the younger man’s lips so he could drink the cool water. The dark curly haired man in the bed looked like utter shite though he looked quite different when he was clean and his hair wasn't matted with filth…..pale eyed, high cheekbones and full lips…..but despite the thinness he was quite ethereally beautiful. Was this Mike’s…..Mycroft’s partner?

“Yet another fine mess you have gotten yourself into Sherlock” Mycroft said to the dark haired man who greedily supped up the entire cupful.

“Do shut up, Mycroft, I realise now perhaps doing a Speedball wasn’t entirely smart” said Sherlock tiredly and licking his lips.

Mycroft tutted in disgust.

“You’re mixing cocaine with heroin now?” said Mycroft in an low outraged tone “Perhaps during yet another stint of rehab I will send you several prospectus’ from various graveyards and funeral homes and you can pick out what you like……perhaps even Mummy can help you, I’m quite sure she will enjoy that thoroughly since you are hell bent on offing yourself”

“Oh piss off with your sanctimonious lecturing……..you called her didn’t you, how could you Mycroft……you know how she gets” whined Sherlock like a petulant two year old.

Mummy? Brothers then, though they looked nothing alike.

Greg raised his eyebrows at the childish bickering of the pair, perhaps it would be better to come back when they had finished their spat though he wanted words with both of them. He slipped out of the room as they continued to argue back and forth. He punched the button on the lift and waited.

“Wait!” called out Mycroft’s voice as the lift opened. 

Greg turned around. 

Mycroft strode up blue eyes fixed on him and though he stood a respectful distance away Greg could smell the cologne he wore.

“What is your name…..your real name?” asked Mycroft.

“Gregory Jaren Lestrade” answered Greg.

“Mycroft Timothy Edward Holmes” said Mycroft coldly “Why did you never call me?”

Greg frowned at the icy cold tone.

“Pardon?” he asked in confusion.

“Why did you never call, I left my number on the table for the hotel I was in……I needed to go back to check on Sherlock and get a change of clothes……when I returned you had gone” said Mycroft icily “I had stupidly thought perhaps we could see one another when we had returned to England, my mistake obviously but then that is youth for you”

Greg stared at him. He’d left his number and not done a runner after all. After the wonderful night they had spent together Greg had wanted to see Mycroft too when they got back to England….perhaps he wouldn’t have jumped into marrying Caroline if he had.

“There was nothing on the table. When I got back from grabbing us breakfast and coffee you’d gone, I thought you’d done a bunk after waiting around for two hours to see if you’d return so I checked out then went back to Vallauris to see my Grand-mère and Grandpère before returning to England that night, I had to go back to work the next day” said Greg

“Where do you work?” asked Mycroft after a moment of seemingly digesting what Greg said in less freezing tone.

“New Scotland Yard, I’m a Sergeant” said Greg ‘Yourself?”

“Minor position in the British Government” said Mycroft quietly the ice gone from his voice now “Most of my time is spent at Vauxhall”

Greg raised his eyebrows. 

Shit, MI5 or MI6 then. 

Greg let that drop, he’d met a few spooks in his time when cases came to their notice; he’d learnt not to ask questions about their work.

“You married?” asked Greg noticing the ring on Mycroft’s right hand that denoted either a same sex marriage or widower.

“Yes, though it was not recognised legally of course” answered Mycroft with fathomless expression “I am a widower”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry……” stammered Greg wishing he could take the proverbial foot out of his mouth.

“It’s quite alright” said Mycroft flatly “You married too I see?” 

“Yeah, nearly 20 years” said Greg “Have a daughter too…….Jasmine”

Greg had to look down at the gold ring on his hand before his obvious staring became noticeable. He had much preferred the carroty orange curls to the smooth and straight reddish brown hair but hey, his hair wasn’t exactly the same now and he’d gone prematurely grey at only 30. It was quite obvious that the lovely freckles were hidden behind cleverly applied makeup though Greg couldn’t understand why he covered them up.

Mycroft Holmes was still as gorgeous 20 years later as mature man. He had often thought of him in the years after France and what he was up to and now to find out that he had wanted to pursue a relationship further after that night made his stomach clench with what could have been. 

In truth he had just assumed the reason Mycroft had done a bunk was because he was way beneath the younger man who hadn’t been fussy that night and settled for a bit of rough to shag him….the old adage of fine for a fuck but not fine to meet the family kind of thing. 

*Mycroft*

At least he knew now why he’d never been called, the possibility of the note somehow blowing off the table or behind furniture was a high probability given it had been quite a gusty day that day. Going back to Hotel Cybell only to be told by staff on the front desk that the room had been vacated and there was no forwarding address by the occupant had been a slap in the face. It had always conflicted in his mind that the man who had been such a gentle and attentive lover would just callously just up and go without a backward glance.

His heart sunk at the knowledge that had he and Gregory continued seeing each other David would, in all probability, never have happened and his life would have been very different. He’d noticed the wedding ring on the man’s hand, even if he was capable of pursuing a relationship the man was married anyway which made him off limits…..and a child too. He had wanted children many years ago….it was one of a few regrets he had and accepted it would never happen.

Mycroft felt his face flush at Gregory’s brown eyes staring at him. He knew he looked like one of those fat balding ministers that trotted about Westminster in their stuffy suits looking like they’d had their faces in the trough. He knew he looked older than his 38 years from the stresses of life both work related and in his personal life. Brown eyes stopped staring and looked down to the gold band that was fiddled with. 

Though twenty years had passed and there were the obvious signs of aging the man he now knew as Gregory and not Jaren was still a very attractive man, in fact, Mycroft though him more attractive now than when he was younger since his salt and peppery hair lent him a distinguished look rather than to make him look old.

That night in Cannes was still the best night he’d ever experienced. The things they had done to each other and how many times he’d been made love to. His backside had been thoroughly buggered and he found out about muscles he didn’t know he had that had ached for days afterwards. The sex had been incredible and Gregory had been an excellent teacher……he wished David had been like Gregory…...David was his greatest mistake in life……only in hindsight could he see how gullible and naïve he had been….and paid the price for it as had David.

“So, um, I’ll come back when Sherlock is up to having a chat in relation to a case I was on. He just appeared out of thin air on my stakeout, ranted like a lunatic and then decided to literally drop dead on me…..all those years of repeated compulsory first aid courses really kicked in….though I’ve reported the Constable that was with me for dereliction of duty……little shit needs a bit of an attitude readjustment which no doubt the Chief Super will happily give” said Gregory looking up at him again with those lovely eyes of his.

Mycroft thanked whatever deity happened to be listening for having Gregory in the same place at the same time his brother decided to gamble with is life. He had seen the state of his brother when having spent time on the streets indulging in his habit, many people like the Constable Gregory spoke of would have left him to die…….but Gregory, kind hearted Gregory had overlooked the fact he was a junkie, he'd likely stunk to high heaven and looked like he’d rolled around in filth but had not hesitated to keep death from claiming his brother. For once he considered it may be coincidence, but the universe was rarely lazy and things happened for a reason…..it was something he would ponder upon later.

“You will find Sherlock difficult to deal with; especially once he begins to go into withdrawals” said Mycroft “He’ll be moved to a rehab facility most likely by late this evening before he has a chance to up and do a disappearing act.”

“Okay, well perhaps I will come back later then, it shouldn’t take long” said Gregory hitting the lift button “Will you be around too or are you going to do a famous Holmes disappearing act?”

“Unless an emergency crops up at work then yes, I will be” said Mycroft not needing to explain himself since the older man knew exactly what admitting he worked at Vauxhall meant.

Gregory stepped into the empty lift as it stopped at the floor then smiled at him as the door closed.

Something in Mycrofts chest fluttered; something that he had thought dead inside him and yes, it frightened him.  
Mycroft went back to Sherlocks room carefully keeping his face impassive. His brother narrowed his eyes as he entered, alert and mind working now he wasn’t as high as a kite though he wouldn't be feeling chipper too much longer when withdrawals began……he could almost hear the rapid deductions being made as he sat back down in the chair. 

“You know him……it was years ago……oh, well before HIM……you had sex……not once but many times but something didn’t work out and you lost contact…..ohhhh, you fancy him still…..despite the years……despite…….HIM” reeled off Sherlock without taking a breath.

“My personal life is none of your business Sherlock, there is plenty you don’t know so kindly keep your deductions to yourself” said Mycroft with a snap opening one of his files that Anthea had brought though he didn’t really look at it. 

He would be looking into Gregory Jaren Lestrade and what he had been up to for the last 20 years; in fact he would delve into his entire life to find out everything about him.

“It is my business after David, Mycroft” said Sherlock quietly “I will not stand back and tolerate another man doing to you what David did whether you like it or not……and neither will Mummy”

Mycroft compressed his lips together. 

It was all a moot point anyway; Gregory was married with a child. 

Mycroft came with an enormous pile of baggage and hang-ups.

No man would want him; he was broken and useless from his marriage to David.


	8. David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hated the man his brother had entered into a 'marriage' with, but the Sergeant intrigues him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter mentions drug use, domestic violence, attempted rape and graphic injuries as a result of domestic violence.

Sherlock felt awful and already he could feel the cravings beginning for another hit of cocaine. Doing a speedball had not been one of his wisest decisions; in fact it had been downright stupid. The high had been nothing like cocaine on its own and he sure as hell would not be doing that again. He’d overdosed before but he’d never died, dying was frightening….he vividly remembered dark creatures grabbing at him though he had no idea if that was part of the drug induced high or something he did not want to even entertain.

His chest hurt from where the Sergeant had done chest compressions to keep his heart beating and hunger gnawed in the pit of his stomach. He wished he had not barely touched the food Anthea had brought in from him rather than have to eat the gross hospital food that always looked like someone had irradiated then crucified it. 

His brother was now steadfastly ignoring him which irritated Sherlock no end; he wanted to pursue the subject of the Sergeant with him but knew that Mycroft had shut down on the subject. Mycroft had shown no inclination towards any man since David. For the first time in 14 years he had seen his brother act without the cold indifference he usually displayed towards anyone except his family and Anthea. Therefore that made the Sergeant intriguing and not boring. He had desperately hoped that one day Mycroft could move on from his past and find the love he deserved. While Sherlock knew it hurt his brother when he did drugs and acted like a selfish arsehole, he did love his brother and hated how he had isolated himself and carefully hid his loneliness and need for companionship.

Sherlock closed his eyes. David Roth. Had the man not died he would have hunted him to the ends of the earth. Mycroft had met him on a trip to Washington and he’d been eight years older than his brother who had just turned 20. The man had been in the lower ranks of the CIA and had seen Mycroft as a rung up the ladder quicker both socially and professionally. 

David had flattered his brother and charmed him with his with his accent and classic good looks. Blond haired, blue eyed, tall and muscular……his brother had fallen hard for the man who had quickly moved from the US to Britain and inside three months had moved in with Mycroft and to a higher position liaising between CIA and SIS. Sherlock hadn’t liked the man at all much to Mycroft’s chagrin though David had smiled and treated Sherlock like a stupid 13 year old. He made Sherlock look like he was being unreasonably difficult and Mycroft had been too blinded by David to see past the lies.

Inside six months his brother changed. He rarely smiled, he looked tired and stressed and his personality became forced rather than natural. His visits home became less frequent and he made excuses for both their parents and Sherlock not to visit their home. At one point it had been nearly 9 months between seeing his brother and Sherlock had been shocked at how thin Mycroft had become…….and that was when had noticed his brother trying not to wince each time he raised his left arm and had asked him how he’d hurt himself. Of course David had given him one of his charming smiles and said that Mycroft had overdone it playing tennis the previous day to which his brother did not deny.

Sherlock had known that was a blatant lie since his brother had hated playing any form of sports, as far back as he could remember Mycroft preferred to be curled up with a book rather than running about or doing any kind of sports. By then Sherlock had been nearly 17 and the deductions he arrived at over the years didn’t paint a pretty picture of his brother’s relationship with David. The bastard was an abuser, he’d destroyed his brothers self-confidence and self-esteem using the physical traits Mycroft had always been insecure about…….he’d isolated Mycroft from his family and few friends though he’d not stopped him working because of the advantage it presented for himself and then reinforced his control over Mycroft with physical and mental abuse.

It had come to a head not long after the lie about the tennis injury. Mycroft had called him at Uni to tell him he was leaving David and needed help moving stuff while David was at work the next evening. Overjoyed that his brother had finally seen sense he’d got in a cab to go to Mycroft’s home a little earlier than planned and to a scene that still haunted him.

Things in the apartment had been broken or smashed and he’d been frightened when he saw bloody drips and stains on the light coloured carpet. He heard sounds from the upstairs rooms and flew up the stairs where more blood stained the carpets. David had come home early and caught Mycroft packing to leave and a confrontation had ensued making David snap.

In the front bedroom he’d found his battered brother not moving on the bedroom floor, clothes torn, covered in blood and interrupted David attempting to rape him. David had looked demented and was covered in Mycrofts blood, upon spotting Sherlock he knew by the hate on the mans face he had every intention of beating Sherlock too. He’d ran, hoping to get David away from his brother then as he heard him only steps behind he had picked up a dining room chair and smashed it across David who fell to the floor. Sherlock had kicked him in the head as hard as he could praying it would keep him down before hurrying back to his brother and calling an ambulance then the police. 

It had been one of the few times Sherlock had cried as he’d held his brother who dropped in and out of a dazed consciousness, horrified at what had been done to him and terrified he was going to die in his arms. Two broken teeth, broken nose, broken cheekbone, three broken ribs, multiple fractures, ruptured spleen, trauma to both kidneys, broken wrist and a dislocated kneecap and shoulder.

The bastard who had nearly killed his brother had fled before the police arrived but David had been found in the early hours of the morning, the official line was he’d been drunk and crashed his car into a brick wall which had caught fire. David had indeed been drinking and the toxicology report showed he had been mixing prescription drugs that had contraindicated with the alcohol thus causing the accident.

Unofficially Sherlock knew that David had been taken care of by either US or the British government. Mycroft was too valuable an asset to both governments as both an agent and an analyst and was rapidly rising up into the higher ranks; David was a liability and despite his perceived self-importance his position in the CIA was not as significant as Mycrofts position. The entire situation was dealt with quietly and efficiently with little scandal attached to Mycroft since the official story for his injuries was that he’d also been in the car and a bystander had pulled him out before it had caught fire.

So really Mycroft had no call to be snippy and telling him to mind his own business. Sherlock had not forgotten the four hours of surgery. Had not forgotten Mummy’s hysterical tears seeing her son wheeled into a room from recovery looking every bit like a victim of a terrible car accident though the family knew the truth behind the injuries. He had not forgotten the pain Mycroft had suffered while healing from his injuries and how he not looked Sherlock in the eye for nearly a year because of the shame he felt in having his brother find him like that.

“Oh dear lord” murmured Sherlock shrinking back into the bed at hearing his mother’s voice approaching in the corridor.

“Indeed” agreed Mycroft softly as Mummy swept in.

Sherlock cowered as she first berated him then grimaced as she clucked over him like a hen and stayed for nearly two hours before departing. Mycroft the wily sod had made the excuse he needed to take calls and slipped away leaving him to deal with the parents on his own as punishment.

His brother had not yet returned when the Sergeant walked in again much later though it was possible he had ducked in to check on him when he had napped. His mouth watered at the smell of fresh donuts coming from a bag he laid down on the bedside table. Mummy had brought him food from home too but it was all healthy stuff. 

“Brought you something to eat, I know from experience that hospital food is shit-house” said the policeman.

Mid 40’s, fairly fit, liked rugby and soccer, one child, married……unhappily married, cheating wife though was not a cheater himself, drinks too much, smokes too much, loves the job he does, low propensity for violence but wouldn’t hesitate to protect himself or others if required, honest and trustworthy and yes, quite ruggedly attractive in a way that even appealed to Sherlock. 

Still, Sherlock was going to need to keep his wits about him and refrain from the drugs to keep an eye on his this man who was going to be in his brothers life in some capacity until they ended up together at some stage in the future. He needed to be somewhat difficult to deal with still, and inject the right amount of indifference and snark because goodness knows he didn’t want Mycroft to think he could possibly approve of anyone he might accept into his life.

“Sit down, do you need me to tell you where you went wrong, Graeme?” asked Sherlock in a bored voice.

“Greg” corrected the policeman in his cheerful manner “The name’s Greg”

Yes, this one was interesting indeed.


	9. Deductions and missed deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes back to the hospital to see Sherlock.

Sherlock was very cooperative despite acting like a complete dick about it. Greg jotted down everything he told him regarding the drug dealer they were after; his snout was double dipping and had tipped off the scumbag who had done his dealing using a street kid instead.

“So, tell me about yourself, Geoff” asked Sherlock clasping his fingers under his chin as if in prayer.

“Greg” corrected Greg putting his notebook to one side on the metal bedside table “And there isn’t much to tell, mate”

“Mid 40’s, fairly fit, likes rugby and soccer, one child, married……unhappily married and you sleep on the couch, your wife is rarely home and you have…..a daughter, drinker but not an alcoholic…..still you drink too much, you smoke too much, you love police work and want promotion, honest, trustworthy and above corruption…..you play guitar, you like Punk music, you like Chinese take-away…..Szechuan beef” said Sherlock in a rush running his pale blue eyes over him “You also have a tattoo on your right arm with your daughter’s name on it, noooo, wouldn’t say there isn’t much to tell”

Greg blinked totally gobsmacked at Sherlock who reeled off details that were absolutely correct.

“How’d you do that?” he wanted to know quite impressed “How can you possibly know all that?”

“I observe” said Sherlock simply.

“I’m 44, I play the odd game of rugby with the boys at the Met…….I’m a Man United fan so yeah, love soccer……I have a daughter who is 19….Jasmine…..been married 20 years, yeah, far too many lagers and far too many of the fags……my job is essentially my life and I want to make Inspector soon, have to be honest and trustworthy to be a cop though not all are…….played guitar since I was a kid and yeah I love Punk, a good Chinese with a spicy Szechuan beef with lots of noodles is my idea of a good take-away and I have Jasmine flowers tattooed on my right arm with her name under it” said Greg “And what about you, aside from putting crap in your veins?”

“Boring” Sherlock said with a shrug “How and when did you meet Mycroft?”

“Just over 20 years ago in Cannes” said Greg “We met in a Jazz Club”

“Mycroft hates Jazz” said Sherlock then carried on bluntly “You had sex with him……repeatedly”

Greg offered no information on that though he looked away from the keen pale eyes that missed nothing actually worried what the dark haired man might come out with.

“You still think him attractive, was he a virgin?” asked Sherlock with obvious interest.

“Enough with the……whatever it is you are doing” said Greg abruptly rising from the chair uncomfortable with where the conversation was going…..like he was going to discuss that night with his brother….what did he expect him to say for god’s sake…..uh, no mate, he wasn’t a virgin in the literal sense but a virgin to sexual gratification with a partner….something I remedied when I fucked him until he was senseless with pleasure.

He was a married man and even if he wasn’t he doubted Mycroft would be interested in him now anyway. Greg had too much grey hair, too many lines on his face, a few more pounds on him and wasn’t exactly the young stud he’d been back then.

“You’re not going already are you?” asked Sherlock sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, I am” said Greg “I do have other things to do”

“Tedious” said Sherlock again “I won’t mention him if you stay”

“Good night Sherlock” said Greg walking out of the hospital room.

The younger man was a persistent little swine with an uncanny ability to read people even if he was a nosy bastard. It was a pity he was a junkie, he would be really valuable to knock ideas around with on cases…..even cold cases that had gone stale that could do with fresh eyes.

He was disappointed he’d not seen Mycroft but perhaps that was a good thing. Incredible to believe they had been working not far from each other all these years….he wondered what Mycroft actually did at Vauxhall in a professional capacity.....he snorted imagining some kind of James Bond whipping around London in an Aston Martin……asking for Martini’s to be shaken, not stirred.

As usual Caroline wasn’t home and there was no note or text on his phone. He changed into jeans and jumper after putting the gas fire on since it was a bit nippy that evening. Greg contemplated the possibilities of both fridge and pantry for dinner noting he really needed to do a grocery run if Caroline wasn’t going to bother. Grabbing a lager he called up the local Chinese and ordered spring rolls, Szechuan Beef and a tub of hoisin stir fried noodles to pick up.

Twenty minutes later he’d finished jogging the half-ish or so mile to the corner Chinese, his stomach growled in hunger at the smells in the take-away and after paying for his dinner he did a slow jog home again. Caroline could find her own fucking dinner; if he didn’t need to work tomorrow he would have pissed off down the pub for a Guinness Pie and mash instead.

He’d just found a re-run of Torchwood to watch on tele and picked up his chopsticks when the doorbell rang. For fuck-sake, his stomach was starting to touch his backbone and he wanted to bloody well eat. He flung the door open after switching on the outside light and Mycroft Holmes took a step back at the aggressive action.

“Forgive my intrusion but you left this behind at the hospital” said the younger man quite primly holding out his notebook he now remembered putting on the metal bedside table in Sherlock’s room

“Uh, well thanks…..a copper is lost without their notebook” said Greg then frowned “Hang on, how do you know where I live?”

Mycroft looked non-plussed, shifting the umbrella on the crook of his elbow an inch before standing a little straighter.

“I work at Vauxhall Gregory, I am quite sure you can put the dots together” he said evenly.

Greg raised his eyebrows.

“You’re spying on me?” he asked not really phased about it since he had nothing to hide anyway.

Mycroft at least had the good grace to look slightly abashed at the accusation.

“Certainly not” insisted the man “You hardly qualify as a person of interest to Her Majesty’s security services”

“And how would you know unless you have run a security check on me and my background already?” asked Greg not really phased if he had been checked out since he had nothing to hide.

Mycroft shifted his umbrella again which Greg took to be the younger mans way of giving him a moment to compose a suitable reply.

“So, are you going to come in Mr Bond or does Miss Moneypenny beckon from the Aston Martin?” asked Greg deadpan and deflecting away from the topic of security issues.

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Miss Moneypenny’s name is Anthea and I have a BMW” said Mycroft stepping over the threshold to his home “And I prefer a Martini stirred, not shaken and with no olive.....I cannot abide olives”

Greg snorted at his dry humour.

“No Martini here I’m afraid……just lager and the insipid shit the wife calls wine” said Greg “Can I offer you either?”

“Thank you, no” said Mycroft politely “I’ve interrupted your dinner?”

“Don’t sweat it” said Greg taking the sofa while Mycroft took a recliner “Do you want some spring rolls, Szechuan chicken and stir fried hoisin noodles?”

“Again, thank you, no” said Mycroft “I’m on a diet at the moment”

Greg raised his eyebrows again after demolishing a spring roll in two bites.

“Diet?” said Greg “You don’t need to diet, Mycroft”

“A well cut suit can hide a multitude of sins” said Mycroft though his cheeks pinked at the compliment.

“Pffft, nothing hides a fat gut or fat arse, and you have neither” said Greg shoving an entire spring roll in his mouth to stop him saying anything else that made him sound like he’d been perving on the man’s arse…...an arse he remembered had been plushly rounded, freckled and very much enjoyed a tongue up it.

Greg swallowed then choked on pieces of the spring roll as it went down the wrong way and coughed to dislodge it. It didn’t move and he wheezed in a breath choking and coughing again. He dashed to the kitchen hurriedly pouring a glass of water to drink.

“Gregory, are you alright?” asked Mycroft in a voice laced with concern as he gulped the water to try and move the spring roll but only succeeded in coughing more and spraying it into the sink.

He couldn’t breathe properly and was starting to panic when Mycroft bent him over and delivered three firm hits to the middle of his back with the heel of his hand. The pieces of spring roll dislodged when he choked and coughed into the sink.

Greg wilted with relief sucking in deep breaths. His eyes were streaming and his throat now felt like he’d been swallowing razorblades.

“Perhaps smaller pieces and chewing one’s food more slowly would be advisable” said Mycroft evenly.

Greg felt his face go hot with mortification at making a fool of himself in front of the man.

“I once guzzled an entire bottle of orange Fanta so fast I choked on it. I had bubbles, soda and froth coming out of my nose like I was rabid…..needless to say I have never guzzled a drink down before” said Mycroft “It was unfortunate to have happened in front of Sherlock who never let me live it down”

“Try red wine, looks like you are bleeding and even worse when you have chunks of potato crisps flowing out too” said Greg with a raspy voice remembering a party he went to at 17 where he’d witnessed one of the other drunk patrons doing it.

Mycroft wrinkled his nose.

“That is utterly disgusting; why anyone would mix potato crisps and red wine in the first place?” asked the younger man.

“Mate, I’ll have to educate you sometime with a bag of crisps and a bottle of really nasty cheap shitty red, you haven’t lived until you chuck that up” said Greg shaking his head “I’ve had some right bastard hang-overs with reds”

“Sounds awful” said Mycroft “But I’m afraid I have no inclination to drink until I’m sick and an excellent vintage red is more my taste so I’m afraid a nasty, cheap, shitty red is out of the question”

Greg frowned at that statement which smacked of class snobbery, he’d had a good vintage wine or two in his time and in his opinion it still tasted like a nasty, cheap, shitty red. This reinforced to him why it probably would never have worked past that night in France, they were from opposite ends of the social scale. 

“Yeah, you are the type to have the excellent vintage red and I’m the nasty cheap shitty red type” said Greg turning on the tap to wash the chewed up spring roll down the sink.

“Gregory……”

The front door banged open making Mycroft jump, whatever he was going to say halted as his wife stumbled into view and who appeared to have been drinking quite a bit herself as she lurched into the kitchen.

“Decided to have a night in for a change, Caroline?” asked Greg sarcastically, wasn’t that just typical she would be home early when he had company for a change.

“Linda felt sick after the rubbish kebabs we had” retorted his wife by way of explanation, ignoring his sarcasm and looking Mycroft over “Well then, who do we have here?” 

“Mycroft Homes” said Mycroft inclining his head at Caroline who blinked at the formal posh accent. “If you will excuse me Gregory I should be getting back to the hospital and will see myself out, nice to meet you Mrs Lestrade”

With that Mycroft turned on his heel and was out the door leaving only his cologne in the air.

“La di da, who the fuck names their kid Mycoft and where did you meet Mr Posh Pants” asked Caroline with a hiccup.

“Work related” said Greg truthfully “He was dropping off my notebook that I left at the hospital after interviewing a junkie that had information about a drug dealer”

Greg frowned at Caroline as she pressed herself up against him, something that hadn't happened in quite a while.

“How’s about you and I do some horizontal mamba?” she asked suggestively.

Later he grimaced at his wife’s loud snores and got up, pulled his dressing gown on and closed the bedroom door so he didn’t have to listen to the racket. He sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment, he could barely get an erection these days let alone keep it up and it was a godsend that Caroline had fallen into a drunken sleep.

He picked up the now cold take-away to eat.

Marriage had made him impotent.

Sherlock hadn't made that deduction.


	10. Unwelcome flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback causes Mycroft anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter has domestic violence and suggests attempted rape without a graphic description.

“Put that down right now and take ten minutes to have a cup of tea and a snack, Mycroft” ordered his personal assistant in a tone that brooked no nonsense.

Mycroft dropped the folder back to the desk like it was a live grenade and scowled over at the brunette.

“I don’t recall bullying your boss and giving orders as part of your job description, Anthea” said Mycroft evenly.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t skip lunch, I bet you didn’t bother with breakfast either did you?” she said giving him a glare. 

Mycroft glared back but it was useless to try and intimidate her like he could others. Nothing got past the nosy cow; he had in fact only had a cup of tea for breakfast then a cup of tea at elevenses so far today. She pointed at the fresh cup of fragrant Earl Grey tea, bottle of water, two ham and mustard sandwiches and mini chocolate cupcake on the tray she had placed on the desk.

“Eat!” she said firmly sinking into one of the chairs opposite his desk and took out her phone.

He narrowed his eyes; she was supervising him like a child to ensure he ate and clearly had more to say to him.

“Yes, Mother” he said waspishly which earned him another glare and picked up a daintily cut triangle and took a small bite.

In truth he would be lost without Anthea who had been with him for just over 16 years, she was his spare right hand and managed almost his entire life right down to even picking his ties…..Anthea once called herself his work wife…..she would have indeed made the perfect wife…..alas, he was gay and she mostly preferred the feminine form. Even if he had liked women it was a line he would not have crossed anyway, he loved her but in a purely platonic way and valued her expertise. 

“Sergeant Gregory Jaren Lestrade of New Scotland Yard”

Mycroft paused, tea cup hovering mid-air for a moment at Anthea’s statement. 

He’d eaten three quarters of the triangles and drank half the tea when she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked feigning ignorance and he resumed drinking his tea.

Her hazel coloured eyes flicked up from her phone and he selected another sandwich triangle and bit half of it off, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

“Sergeant Gregory Jaren Lestrade of New Scotland Yard” she repeated “Brown eyes, five foot eleven, silvery hair, forty four years old……the policeman who saved Sherlocks life”

“Yes” said Mycroft simply.

“You requested a Level 5 Security Brief on him” said Anthea calmly “Marked ASAP”

He had devoured the Security Brief last night which had gone across the desk of his personal assistant first like all paperwork so she could triage what needed attending to immediately, what could wait and what she could deal with herself.

“Yes” replied Mycroft simply again.

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face briefly at his deliberate avoidance of offering more information. They had worked together too many years for her not to be perceptive…..sometimes she was far too perceptive…..that came with familiarity.

“He’s very attractive” she persisted, her eyes going back to her phone and fingers tapping at the small keys.

“Is he?” answered Mycroft adding a touch of boredom to his tone.

Attractive. No, the use of that adjective was a lacklustre understatement. Maturity had made him ruggedly handsome whilst still retaining the striking gorgeousness of his youth……

“Yes, so much so I thought I might pursue him myself” said Anthea with a smile to herself “I don’t often find a man so pleasing on the eye that I would be quite agreeable to tumbling him between the sheets”

A predatory expression had come across Anthea’s face which didn’t bode well for the policeman; she was an expert in manipulation and seduction. 

“In case you didn’t read the part about his status, he is a married man” said Mycroft coolly and calmly, though that minor detail had not prevented her with other prey in the past.

“An unhappily married man with a cheating wife, Mycroft” said Anthea with a shrug “His fidelity is admirable, in fact it makes him all the more interesting. 

Mycroft pushed the tea tray aside having finished the sandwiches and cup of tea then opened the file on a Czech assassin that had turned up in the middle of Manchester the previous day.

“You know how much I like a challenge” continued Anthea

He compressed his lips reading over the words but not actually taking them in. The feelings of jealousy that came over him were foreign; jealousy was an emotion he had not felt in a number of years. What was he supposed to say to that? He could hardly reiterate the fact that Gregory was married again to her. There once was a time he hadn’t cared whether or not a man was married. He didn’t want Anthea anywhere near Gregory but what right had he to prevent her chasing him.

Gregory ending up in bed with her was inevitable…...she could loosen the tongue and zipper of the most faithful of men……Anthea would enjoy the older man and what he offered because he sure as heck had never forgotten Gregory rendering him inarticulate with his talents in bed.

“No doubt he will be unable to resist your persuasive charms, my dear” said Mycroft, colouring his tone with an air of faint dismissive boredom. 

Picking up his pen and leaning over the folder as if engrossed in its contents, he all but heaved a relieved sigh when she got up to remove the tea tray and did not comment on the untouched mini chocolate cupcake as she glided out of his office.

Dropping all pretense of pretending to read the file he let the pen clatter to the desk and let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, running his hands into his receding hair to massage his forehead with his palms and closed his eyes. 

~ FLASHBACK ~

He screamed in agony as David punched him in the back again when he tried to get away but the pain in his dislocated knee was almost unbearable and screamed again as David twisted his broken left wrist. Another punch in the ribs almost made him pass out at the already broken bones being hit again.

“Look at yourself Mikey…..ugly, fat, freckled…..the only thing going for you is offering up your ass like the slut you are and your position at Vauxhall.....you don't think anybody would want you for yourself do you?”

He was going to die; David was finally going to beat him to death tonight because he’d been too stupid to get out of this violent and controlling relationship before now……

Mycroft’s blood ran cold as his husband fumbled with the button and zip on his trousers, his intentions made quite clear by the action. The pain and torment already inflicted upon him was clearly not sadistic enough, this would be the most utterly degrading and humiliating act David could do to make him suffer.

“David, no!” he hated the pleading in his voice, not even sure if he was articulate through the blood, smashed teeth and broken nose. 

David merely laughed at him.

Terror and helplessness like he had never known overcame him, he tried to fight back but his abused body refused to co-operate. He tried retreating into his mind as it began to shut down from the trauma and shock, attempting to distance himself from his body then gave up to passively succumb to the inevitability until another blow to his head and shout made him slip into unconsciousness and the knowledge that he may not wake up again. 

~ END FLASHBACK ~

Mycroft stood up so fast his chair fell over. He should never have gone there, opened that door in his mind that taunted him. He dashed into the small private bathroom kicking the door closed. He closed his eyes leaning against the vanity cabinet, trying to remain calm and beginning his breathing techniques. 

The palpitations in his chest rapidly turned to an accelerated heartbeat, fear pricked like little needles along his arms and he broke out in a cold sweat. The suit jacket he wore was thrown off and lay where it fell. His attempt at keeping his breathing even and remaining calm went by the wayside and he huffed in shallow breaths, his fingers felt numb as he clawed at his tie in an effort to try and loosen it.

His heart hammered in his chest and Mycroft began to feel faint and lightheaded,sliding to the tiled floor knowing he was starting to hyperventilate. He’d not had a panic attack for over two years and he had forgotten how frightening they were.

Anthea flung the bathroom door open.

“Bloody buggering fuck” she swore hurriedly kneeling by his side.

“Come on, deep breaths……control your breathing, Mycroft” she murmured, quickly loosening his tie that felt like a noose around his neck.

“Can’t……can’t……” he gasped out as she opened the collar of his shirt.

“Yes you can……in….and out…..in……and out” she coached breathing deep breaths and cupping his jaw in both hands to keep him focused on her face.

It took effort and he listened to Anthea’s voice, finally he got the panic attack under some semblance of control though he was sweating and shaking as both his heart and breathing slowed.

“Normal breaths now” murmured Anthea patting his forehead with a flannel she had dampened.

There was no judgement in her face; it wasn’t the first time she had seen him in the throes of a panic attack and had seen him in a far worse state.

“There we go, love” she cooed drawing him to her shoulder and simply holding him for a time.

Though Sherlock had prevented David from raping him and despite David lying in a graveyard abroad he still bore the fall out fourteen years later. 

Trust issues, repressing emotions and avoidance of physical intimacy outside his family and Anthea.

He thought back to life before David and wished for that carefree, happy existence again. 


	11. Starbucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft asks Greg for help with Sherlock

Greg chewed on a piece of Almond Croissant staring at the set of crime scene photos, there was something wrong in the pictures but he couldn’t put his finger on it and it was driving him nuts.

He’d spent the morning in court listening to a tosspot lawyer try to tear his evidence apart on a case before deciding to have a spot of lunch in Starbucks…..the Cheddar & Chutney Panini had barely touched the sides and he’d was on his second Cappuccino.

He turned the four pictures around to get another perspective and frowned, it was right on the fucking tip of his tongue……staring him right in the bloody face. He tore off another piece of the Almond Croissant and chewed on it viciously glaring at the damn pictures that were just bloody mocking him now.

"May I sit down?”

Greg looked up at the softly spoken posh voice and smiled at its owner; all thoughts of taking the photos and burning them forgotten.

“Of course you can” he said gesturing to the seat opposite.

“Thank you” said the younger man with a charming little bow, umbrella on his arm as usual.

Mycroft laid the umbrella on the chair next to him as he sat. Today he looked very smart in a dark navy pinstripe and white shirt with burgundy tie and pocket square.

“Can I get you a drink, something to eat?” asked Greg.

“I have ordered an English Breakfast Tea and slice of Ginger Loaf, thank you for asking” said Mycroft clasping his hands together and resting them on the table. 

His eyes flicked over the photographs.

“How have you been?” asked Greg gathering the gory photos and sliding them into the folder before putting it to one side.

It had been just over a month since Mycroft had come to his home and he’d not heard sight or sound of either brother.

“Very busy, I have been abroad quite a bit” said Mycroft, lifting his blue eyes to look at Greg.

“Really?" asked Greg "Anywhere interesting?"

“Not particularly interesting unfortunately” said Mycroft, not elaborating on where he had been. 

Greg didn’t press further since it was obviously work related.

“And how’s Sherlock?” asked Greg “I assume he is still in rehab?”

“The staff at the rehabilitation centre have threatened to eject him head first out the door” sighed Mycroft “He outed the head counsellor there as a cross dresser with a fetish for rubber and pink lace”

Greg burst out laughing. Sherlock was a right cheeky bugger.

“It’s not funny, Gregory” said Mycroft though his lips curled in a small smile “You have no idea the ruckus he has caused there”

“Holmes…..English Breakfast Tea and Ginger Loaf” called the server and Mycroft got up to fetch his drink and cake.

“It’s hilarious” said Greg when Mycroft came back and took his seat again “Could you imagine him in the middle of a sitting Parliament……I’d love to be a fly on the wall with the dirt he would dish out”

“Dear God, he’d start a civil war and probably end up locked in the Tower of London faster than you can say Margaret Thatcher” said Mycroft with a grimace, lightly buttering his Ginger Loaf.

“But you have to admit, it would shake things up a little in what is a boring establishment for most people” grinned Greg “Heck, it could be a new reality TV program, Myc”

Mycroft paused buttering the slice of cake when the name inadvertently fell out of his mouth.

“Uh, Mycroft I mean” corrected Greg shifting uncomfortably at the faux paus.

“Myc is fine, most of the time my Mother calls me that” said Mycroft his cheeks going pink.

Greg picked up his cappuccino and took a gulp; the younger man still blushed charmingly like his teenage self.

“Actually, I have a favour to ask of you in regard to Sherlock” said Mycroft cutting the Ginger Loaf into small perfect sized squares then laid the knife across the top of the plate.

“Sounds ominous” remarked Greg watching as Mycroft then tucked the napkin over his tie.

“Not at all and I will understand completely if you say no” said Mycroft taking a sip of his milky looking English Breakfast Tea and taking up his fork to spear a square of the cake and ate daintily.

“Sounds even more ominous now” said Greg breaking off a piece of the nearly finished Almond Croissant.

“Sherlock gets bored, and when Sherlock gets bored it causes headaches all round” said Mycroft lifting his blue eyes to Greg again 

“Do you have any cold cases he may look at to keep him occupied, I fear if he's left to his own devices much longer the facility will make good on discharging him before he is ready and will return to his drug habit”

“Do you have any idea the shit I can get in to handing over confidential police files to junkie?” said Greg then frowned “No offence”

“None taken” said Mycroft “And what if I can guarantee that you won’t find yourself in the Chief Superintendents office being asked to *please explain*?”

“And how can you guarantee me that, Myc?” asked Greg.

“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to divulge that information” said Mycroft “You will have to take my word that I will not throw you to the wolves….will you accept my word, Gregory?”

Greg sat back in his chair. This was his career he would be playing with, and for the sake of a junkie. Still, it intrigued him to see what Sherlock could do with a bunch of cold cases…..

“Fine” conceded Greg “I’ll duck into the archives and see what I can find”

“Thank you, are you free this evening?” asked Mycroft looking relieved. ”If so, I will collect you at 7pm from your home and we can go out to the rehab facility if you are able to acquire some files this afternoon”

Caroline was off to girls night out again so wouldn’t be home until late, it would be an evening of his usual crap tele and beer for him.

“Nah, just an evening in so going out to see Sherlock is fine” said Greg “Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask anything you like, but depending on the question you may not get an answer” said Mycroft laying the fork down after having only eaten three of the squares he had cut though he had nearly drank the tea.

“Why do you hide your freckles and colour your hair?” asked Greg bothered by it.

He watched Mycrofts expression change at the question. It was obviously something that was a sore subject and he wished he hadn't asked when it turned Mycroft stony faced and coldly aloof.

“Because they are awful” answered Mycroft flatly.

“They were not awful, Myc” said Greg more sharply than he intended.

"My husband didn’t share your sentiments, Gregory" said Mycroft bluntly after a hesitating for several moments.

“How could he not find them lovely" asked Greg trying to understand how somebody who had married him thought his carroty hair and freckles were awful "Your hair was the colour of sunshine and your freckles part of your charm"

Mycroft didn’t answer and stood abruptly snatching up his umbrella.

"Myc......" he began to say but not really knowing what to say now without obviously upsetting the other man.

"The blood spatter patterns are wrong, that is what you are missing" said the younger man after turning on his heel to leave then walked out without looking at him.

He had no bloody idea what had just happened then or what he had done.

Greg pulled the photographs and examined them.

"Well fuck me, he's right" said Greg picking them up, gulping down the last bit of his drink then dashed out of the Starbucks too.


	12. Fatal Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea is the bearer of bad news

It was nearly 8pm before the occupants of his office finally left having dwindled the expensive bottle of scotch to empty that he kept for a snifter every now and then when he had to deal with bullshit like he’d had that afternoon and evening.

The cesspit of British politics was alive and well. He always felt dirty after attending meetings with grubby ministers who used the public purse for their indiscretions or vices. If one wanted to consort with high class whores, eat one hundred pound steak or drink three hundred pound bottles of wine then the greedy bastards should use their own funds instead of the taxpayers.

As usual he had been called upon to cover up their dirty business and protect the Establishment; it had not been a pleasant afternoon dealing with those who were supposed to be looking after the interests of their constituents instead of bickering about their disgusting attitudes of self-entitlement. The general public would be outraged at their conduct, sadly it was those few who tarred them all with the same brush and many of the ministers did work hard and without corruption.

He washed his hands, tidied his hair and ensured his tie and pocket square was perfect before donning his suit jacket and picking up his briefcase to leave Diogenes. He directed his driver to take him home and hoped Sherlock was in a decent frame of mood. Living with Sherlock was stressful but he had point blank refused to go and stay with Mummy and Father preferring London to the Lakes District so it fell to him to once again care for his brother.

The staff at the Centre as always had been pleasant to him, which, given how much it was costing because of the short notice and the five star surroundings, they should be. They had politely asked him to remove Sherlock from the premises four days ago after he’d caused two members of staff to end up in a fist fight once he’d dropped they were both being duped by the same female who was conning them out of money.

He thanked Richard as he alighted from the car outside his home, it worried him that he would come home and his brother had done a flit once again so he could pump his veins full of drugs and continue flirting with death. Even with people watching him his brother had the ability to slither through security details like an invisible snake and disappear from the face of the earth very quickly. Trying to find him in the extensive homeless network of London was like trying to find a lost needle in a huge city.

Taking a deep breath he entered the house, it was absolutely still and silent inside. Mycroft walked around with trepidation, pausing when finding his brother clad in a blue housecoat lying across the rug in front of the fire, fingers steepled under his chin. His vacant, unblinking stare suggested he was somewhere inside his Mind Palace.

Mycroft left his brother to his thoughts and went to his home office which was more comfortable and less minimalist than the ones he occupied at either Diogenes or Vauxhall. Of his three offices he preferred the one at Diogenes; he could think and work better there. He sighed when his phone buzzed in his pocket mere moments after laying his briefcase down, there was certainly no rest for the weary today after he looked at the familiar number calling him. He sorely hoped it wasn’t yet another Minister up to his or her neck in scandal that needed to be swept under the rug.

“What is it Anthea?” he asked tiredly.

“Mycroft, I have some bad news” said Anthea quietly “I just had a call from our person at the Met, unfortunately he was unable to pass the information on immediately. Fifty two minutes ago a car ran a red light in Camberwell, it hit a Jaguar and a police Panda, there were fatalities Mycroft……”

He dropped the phone down onto his chest and closed his eyes, he didn’t want to hear what she was going to say next…..it didn’t take a genius to know to whom she was alluding to otherwise she would not have bothered him with such a call.

It had only been eight and a half weeks since the night they had met once again and after taking Gregory to see Sherlock with the cold case files he had avoided the policeman. With David’s death he had felt indifferent, relieved even…..and as ridiculous as it was because it had only been such a short period of time, if Gregory had died…..he took a deep breath to compose himself and put the phone back up to his ear.

“Mycroft……….Mycroft?” asked Anthea softly from the phone “Mycroft, are you there?”

“Yes” he murmured leaning back against his desk, opening his eyes when he heard Sherlock come into his office and looked at his brother “Is Gregory one of the fatalities?”

Sherlocks eyes widened at his words and gazed at Mycroft intently not moving.

“No, he’s alive but he was unconscious when they pulled him from the car” said Anthea “He’s was taken to St Thomas’ A & E, he’s currently being prepared for theatre and listed as critical. I’ve emailed you the CCTV footage”

Critical.

Serious…Grave….Acute….Dire….Perilous….Precarious….Life threatening.

His mind ran through unhelpful synonyms.

“Do you want to me to keep you updated or will you be coming to the hospital yourself?” asked Anthea.

“Thank you, keep me updated” said Mycroft hanging the call up then rubbed his forehead feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“What has happened to Lestrade?” asked Sherlock as Mycroft flipped open his laptop and logged onto a secure network.

“Sergeant Lestrade has been taken to St Thomas’ after being involved in a motor vehicle accident less than an hour ago” said Mycroft going into his email account and waiting for a moment for his mail to download to the inbox then clicked on the one titled G. J. L. Camberwell.

They were both quiet after he opened the video file that showed the crossroads and light traffic flowing smoothly. The video ran for thirty four seconds before the police Panda approached the crossroads just after the light turned green, on the opposite side a blue Jaguar also approached the crossroads. A green Ford Focus entered right of the video as both cars crossed clearly speeding and Mycroft flinched as it impacted the Jaguar side on at high speed, the Jaguar then slammed into the side of the Panda sending it skidding sideways across the road and smashing into a light pole on the left hand rear passenger door.

Traffic halted and there was no movement from inside the three cars. Other drivers got out of their vehicles and went to assist, in less than two minutes police arrived on the scene followed by other emergency services barely a scant minute later again.

He forwarded through the video then Mycroft tapped the wood of the desk nervously as paramedics ducked in and out of the passenger side open door working on he assumed was Gregory who was obscured from view from the camera. A Medical Examiners vehicle had arrived to deal with the fatalities, it appeared the driver of the Ford Focus, the passenger in the Jaguar and the driver of the Panda had died since it was only Gregory and the driver of the Jaguar that were being attended to. Police were talking to witnesses and directing traffic around the accident scene.

He paused in his tapping as a bed was wheeled from the back of the ambulance to the side of the Panda after what seemed an eternity, the driver of the Jaguar was still being attended to. Mycroft cringed as the unconscious form of Gregory was removed slowly and carefully from the vehicle and placed upon it; his right arm flopped like a rag doll over the side of it to hang uselessly until one of the paramedics moved it onto the portable bed. There was blood, too much of it visible down the left side of the older mans head, face, neck and staining his shirt. The paramedics had put on a neck brace, oxygen mask and drip in his right hand. The video ended after Gregory had been placed inside the ambulance. Mycroft shut his laptop.

He needed a drink, a cigarette and to think. Definitely head injuries, possible neck injury, possible chest and other internal injuries and his left shoulder or arm was could be broken or fractured. Going to the sideboard in his dining room he picked up a decanter of brandy and poured three fingers into a tumbler.

“And you accuse me of being weak and unable to not refrain from bad habits” stated Sherlock with a hiss “The very fact you are turning to yours speaks volumes, is it possible you have feelings towards Lestrade, Mycroft?”

Mycroft clenched his jaw.

Alcohol was his demon like drugs were Sherlock’s demon. For a time after he’d come out of hospital after David’s death he had drank far too heavily, he never drank at work but at home he would drink until he was drunk, before David’s death he had drank but not into drunkenness.

Previous to David he had been nearly a teetotaller. Thank god he’d had PA at the time who had covered his arse during his hangovers otherwise his decision making could have cost lives. Now he only indulged in one or two at the most drinks and never got drunk.

He didn’t answer his brother at first, instead he opened the sideboard drawer and took a cigarette out of a packet he kept in there which evidently his brother had found since there were several less in the packet than what he had smoked. It was cool outside, the days were getting warmer now it was spring and the weather boffins were touting a very hot summer. He lit his cigarette and drew the smoke in deeply; he didn’t smoke much either…up to three a day…..and one or two extra when he was stressed.

“I am not going to get drunk, I am quite able to have one or two without the need to dull my mind with it” said Mycroft taking a sip of the amber liquid as his brother joined him with a pilfered cigarette as well “And I have never drank myself to death”

In the other matter he ignored it completely because there was some truth in his brother’s words. He did have feelings towards Sergeant Lestrade. He had admitted those feelings to his psychologist who, despite the fact they were inappropriate given the older man was married, had said it showed he was capable of emotional growth and perhaps those feelings were because of the positive liaison they’d had previously so there was some level of trust towards the man.

When he’d come back from France he had been very promiscuous. Gregory had opened a Pandora’s Box in Cannes…….put quite simply he couldn’t get enough of sex or fucking once he knew how fantastic it could be. He had run into other men over the years that he had slept with in those early days and they had simply been just that, someone he had slept with and forgotten about. He was trying to fathom why it was different with Gregory, a man he had never forgotten.

“We should go to the hospital” said Sherlock blowing a smoke ring.

“He will have his family at the hospital” said Mycroft and Sherlock snorted.

“His daughter is currently cavorting around Spain and the slut of a wife is probably banging like a barn door with the accountant she is currently having it off with” said Sherlock “It would take his sister a number of hours to travel down from Scotland”

Mycroft blew out two smoke rings just to best his brother then took a gulp of his drink, it was unsurprising that Sherlock had snooped and found the file on Gregory in his office to learn about the Sergeant. By all accounts the cold case files Gregory had been bringing for him to look at were being devoured as puzzles for him to solve and the two men worked amicably.

“Plus there is no temptation of alcohol at the hospital” said Sherlock bluntly.

It was silent between them until cigarettes had been stubbed out and the tumbler empty.

“Anthea will keep me informed” said Mycroft “And I have already said I have no intention of getting drunk, one is quite enough”

He would very much like to go to the hospital but should Gregory not survive his injuries he would rather hear that news in the privacy of his home, besides it was the place of his family to be there and not his.

Both of them returned inside, Mycroft laid the tumbler in the kitchen sink and went back to his office to do some work since it was unlikely he would sleep until there was news from Anthea. Sherlock followed him and made himself quite comfortable on the small leather sofa he had in there…..one to keep an eye on him so he didn’t sneak off to drink more, and two so he could persist on pursing the subject of Gregory

“Cannes, 1988 in a jazz club” replied Mycroft awakening his laptop from sleep mode “But you a know that because you have asked Gregory already who answered it”

“Was he your first?” asked Sherlock quizzically.

Mycroft flicked a glance at his brother who was staring at him intently; he had asked Gregory that question too but received no answer to it.

“No” answered Mycroft “Gregory was the third. The first was a man who was 12 years older that I seduced when I was 16”

Sherlock blinked.

“Do you remember Jonathan; the gardener Mummy retained after old Richard retired? He used to put insects in little jars for you to study” said Mycroft.

Sherlock stared in disbelief at him.

“There now, have I shocked you little brother?” asked Mycroft 

“Christ, he was married with children Mycroft” said Sherlock slowly “16? You were a child yourself”

“Oh I knew quite well what I was doing, it was very much consensual on my part” said Mycroft truthfully “Jonathan tried to be completely heterosexual but liked teenage boys and was hardly going to turn down the offer of sex with a younger man who had been deliberately enticing him into a secret tryst…….whilst you were at the circus visiting the next town with our parents I was losing my virginity in my bedroom”

Sherlock was truly shocked at this revelation, probably remembering the hasty departure of Jonathan seemingly for no apparent reason. He had likely been scared Mycroft would open his mouth and bring down the local constabulary on him for sex with a minor.

“The second was a closeted Fine Arts swot called Adam at Uni who was as boring in bed as Jonathan had been when I was 17, he had the personality akin to a wet fish” said Mycroft clicking on his email icon “And then came Gregory when I was 18…....he was 24, utterly gorgeous and a devastatingly proficient lover”

Sherlock was silent as he offered this personal information. In that regard he and his brother were like chalk and cheese sexually. Mycroft was gay and had been a slut; Sherlock didn’t seem to care for people romantically or sexually and still remained as untouched as the day he was born…..perhaps one day somebody would come along that would pique his interest but it didn’t bother Sherlock to be alone.

Mycroft clicked on a message from Mummy asking for him and Sherlock to go for dinner on Sunday.

“In the two years between Gregory and David I slept with many men, the number of which would horrify you but in the region of triple digits……sometimes more than one in a day and sometimes two at once” said Mycroft “I slept with David within 12 hours of meeting him”

And wasn’t that something he wished he could change now. He should have done what he always did with those he had slept with and not looked back after they’d clawed each other clothes off and had rough, fast sex in Mycrofts hotel room when he had invited David back there after a day of meetings at the Central Intelligence Agency. Mycroft had kept it professional the next day but David had turned up at his hotel again and in an act of stupidly Mycroft had let him charm his way into his room and bed.....that charm had just been an illusion. No use crying over spilt milk now unfortunately, hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Thankfully Sherlock asked no more questions; perhaps Mycroft had shocked him enough for one day. Instead he just perched on the leather sofa with knees drawn up to his chin and eyes closed no doubt inside his Mind Palace digesting the information. Mycroft closed his email after promising Mummy they would be there for Sunday dinner then opened up several Word documents to finish writing a few reports for MI6.

It was nearly three and a half hours later when his mobile phone buzzed with Anthea’s number on the display, the sound brought Sherlock out of his wherever he had been in his mind too as he opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft expectantly. Mycroft answered the call and put it on speakerphone.

“He came out of theatre half an hour ago and has just been put in the CCU from recovery. Broken humerus, three broken ribs, punctured lung, ruptured spleen but it is the skull fracture from where his head impacted against the window that is causing the problems……..the doctors have put him in an induced coma and intubated him to minimise brain swelling……..he is still listed as critical because of the head injury” said Anthea unhappily.

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his eyes in relief, while Gregory hung on to life there was still hope.

“Is his wife with him?” asked Sherlock.

“Yes” said Anthea “She arrived just over half an hour after he was brought into St Thomas’, his daughter is waiting on the next flight out of Spain at 6am in the morning”

“His sister?” asked Mycroft.

“I understand that Jasmine placed a call to Stephanie” said Anthea “It would appear that perhaps Caroline and Stephanie may not be civil with each other……..uh, just a moment Mycroft”

The line went silent for only few moments before his PA came back on.

“I have to go, there are alarms going off and staff are running into Gregory’s room……”

Anthea hung up.

Mycroft ran his fingers up into his hair bowing his head and closing his eyes. He desperately wanted another drink.

Both of them waited silently for Anthea to call back.


	13. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock waits, in more ways than one.

The call from Anthea had been returned just under an hour after she had hung up. Mycroft had been poker-faced whilst wearing a hole in the Oriental rug pacing. Sherlock watched on silently, willing Lestrade not to pass away, not just because he was interesting and liked him but because it would be another scar for Mycroft to endure.

His brother had paused when his phone had buzzed in his pocket, merely taking it out to stare at the A that had come up on the caller ID. Sherlock had snatched it from him and answered Anthea’s call while Mycroft hung back anxiously.

Lestrades blood pressure had dropped suddenly in reaction to one of the drugs they had given him and hospital staff had worked on him frantically to re-stabilise him. He didn’t tell Mycroft that the man had almost gone into cardiac arrest twice.

Sherlock went over every moment he had seen Mycroft and Lestrade together, every word they had spoken, their body language, facial cues and the unexpected personal information his brother had offered earlier trying to deduce and understand what it was that made Mycroft unexpectedly take interest in the older Sergeant.

Yes, Gregory Lestrade was very handsome…..Sherlock had rarely found somebody interesting let alone sexually attractive but he could understand why his brother had fallen into bed all those years ago with the older man because at 44 the policeman was physically pleasing to the eye. A ‘devastatingly proficient lover’ Mycroft had called him, it sounded like his brother had experienced quite the sexual encounter and very satisfying night with Lestrade.

To say he was shocked at other revelations was an understatement. He knew his brother had been involved with other men but my god, he had no idea the extent of it went into the hundreds…..and threesomes too, he was having trouble trying to put the coolly sedate brother who lived like a monk and the brother who, by all accounts had either had a ravenous sexual appetite or sexual addiction into the same body.

He huffed out a breath, his half arsed explorations in his Mind Palace interrupted as his brother stirred in his sleep beside him for the seventh time. Sherlock opened his eyes, lifting his head from where it had been resting on his drawn up knees.

Mycroft mumbled something unintelligible and shifted under the quilt before resuming his soft snoring. Sherlock wondered how long it had been since Mycroft had slept a full 8 hours without tossing, turning or waking.

He turned his head and gazed at his brothers sleeping face that was slack it’s in forced slumber, the relaxed expression made Mycroft look younger than his 38 years and reminded Sherlock of when he would creep into his brothers room in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with him when they were children.

Sherlock reached out and smoothed back a curl of wayward auburn coloured hair gently. Mycroft would be angry at him when he woke, he was surprised his brother hadn’t deduced his offer of making hot cocoa was in order to smuggle powdered down sleeping tablets into it but then concealing drugs was his speciality.

On the outside Mycroft was carefully composed, but such was the turmoil in his brothers mind he hadn’t noticed and drank the hot sweetened beverage he'd laced. He’d drifted off to sleep in less than 30 minutes, already weary from lack of sleep and stress, his head had been slumped down on his chest with his laptop still open on his knee and fingers on the keys.

Once he’d fallen into a relaxed sleep Sherlock had laid him down comfortably on the sofa and covered him with a quilt before texting Anthea on Mycrofts phone to not bother his brother unless the third world war threatened. Who better than he knew what it was like to have a mind that would not rest and go silent without chemical intervention.

Sherlock closed his eyes again, falling asleep without even realising he had dropped off while poking for anything of interest that he had tossed into the junk room of his mind palace.

It was just after 10am when he woke,having slumped sideways to curl up in the Chesterfield chair. The sofa was empty and the quilt had been laid across him while he had slept in the chair. He didn’t need to go and look for his brother he already knew Mycroft had gone into work by the cologne that lingered in the air…..subtle Pierre Cardin for work and the crisper, spicier Pierre Cardin for all other times.

After a cup of tea and nibbling on a slice of buttered toast he took a quick shower and dressed. Sherlock then set about blinding the small hidden CCTV cameras that Mycroft had watching him while heading to Mycrofts room which quite obviously contained no invasive devices. Normally he would not intrude in his brothers private space (his office was fair game though) but he went straight to the bedside table on the side in which his brother slept and opened the top drawer.

A French spy novel, headache tablets, packet of tissues, loaded Beretta with spare magazine and a half eaten bag of mints lay in the top drawer. He opened the next drawer down, neatly pressed and folded handkerchiefs of different colours lay inside, Sherlock carefully plucked them out in order so as to replace them exactly as he found them otherwise his brother would know if one was out of place with his eidetic memory like Sherlock would know if Mycroft had been through his sock index.

Finding nothing he restored the drawer to order then opened the third drawer down. This one was messy with two old woolen scarves stuffed in it and equally old gloves that were higgeldy-piggeldy. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, it was completely out of place with his brothers need for tidiness and he stuck his hand in amongst the items to search the drawer, his fingers found a plastic object at the back of the drawer and he drew it out.

It was a bottle of a well-known lubricant, the date stamp on it was well within expiry date and there was over half the viscous clear liquid gone from it.....it was definitely not an old discarded item and had been used recently.

He put the bottle back exactly where he found it and closed the drawer, removed the dish cloths he had taken from the kitchen drawer from each of the hidden CCTV cameras before putting on his coat and scarf.

~ Are you going to visit him? ~ SH

He sent the text to his brother then stepped out into the crisp London air. He would go to St Barts to visit Mike Stamford and then bother the medical examiner Molly Hooper to poke about in the morgue.

~ I may or may not visit after hours, we will be having words about the cocoa ~ MH

Sherlock hummed, that was a yes.

~ What were you doing in my home that required the CCTV to be disabled for three minutes and twelve seconds, Sherlock? ~ MH

Sherlock smirked, his brothers security spies were on the ball today. He put his phone into his pocket and left the question unanswered.

One thing was certain, Mycroft may not be involving himself with people from what David had done to him……but while there were physical, emotional and psychological issues his brother still had sexual needs he took care of himself.

Sherlock hummed again.

His brother and Lestrade fit each other perfectly for now. Lestrade was impotent and wouldn’t cheat on his wife at this point in time and Mycroft needed time to learn to trust and love again.

He just needed Lestrade to ditch the lying, cheating hag he was married to at the right time so he could be with his brother.


	14. Update.

This work is currently undergoing a re-write of a few chapters as I am not happy with some elements of it. 

Sorry for the wait for updates to it but they are coming. x


	15. After Hours Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits Gregory and gets an unexpected visitor himself.

Mycroft had been delayed going to the hospital for just over 48 hours, dealing with an unexpected international incident that required a joint effort by several security agencies around the world had demanded his attention. He found himself outside St Thomas’ rubbing his eyes tiredly while Richard waited patiently for him to alight from the vehicle at 2am in the morning. 

He had been kept notified of news from the hospital from Anthea and that afternoon Gregory had been moved from CCU to ICU but still remained in the drug induced sleep while he healed but thankfully he had taken off the critical list and was now stable.

A re-watch of the accident on his computer made him cringe a second time but it could have been much, much worse in terms of the injuries Gregory could have sustained. As it was there were three fatalities and both the driver of the Jaguar and Gregory had also very nearly lost their lives. The driver of the Panda had been barely into her twenties, Constable Lisa Jane Simmons…..she had died almost instantly from the impact. 

Mycroft had sent a large anonymous donation to the fund New Scotland Yarders had begun for her family though no amount of money could bring the young lady back who, by all accounts, had a very promising career in the police force. As yet the preliminary investigation into the accident was still ongoing but there were whispers the driver of the Ford Focus had suffered a massive heart attack thus making the entire situation a terrible tragedy.

After much coaxing Richard drove off into the night and to his own bed, there was little point in making the driver wait for him and Mycroft could just this once catch one of the London cabs his younger brother was so fond of as his mode of transport. The early morning air was quite brisk and served to lift some of the weariness from him, though he was used to long hours when his services were called upon sometimes a stiff shot of caffeine or a walk in the cool air sufficed to keep him going.

At such a time of night security protocols were more vigilant but a flash of his identification was all that was needed for him to be waved on with directions to the ICU where he would find Gregory. Visiting in the early hours of the morning ensured he would not run into Mrs Lestrade of whom he disliked despite only having met her the once that night at her home, he would prefer not to run into either Jasmine or Stephanie Lestrade either.

The nursing station come security office at the ICU ward was empty when he found it and he waited patiently for three minutes and twenty seven seconds before it was attended by a middle aged nurse, Jenny, who looked taken aback for a moment which was understandable given the hour. 

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

Married, four children, two dogs.....Shih-tzu breed, husband in the insurance industry, partial to jelly babies, likes a game of bingo or two, attends church on a regular basis…….

“I am here to visit with Mr Lestrade” said Mycroft in a low voice.

“Are you family?” asked Jenny following hospital policy.

Mycroft took out his wallet and showed her the same identification card he had shown security. She blinked for but a moment staring at the card before raising her eyes to his face displaying just a small amount of trepidation before she moved.

“I’ll just buzz you through then shall I” said Jenny nodding towards the doors that required a person inside the nursing station to press a button to open “Mr Lestrade is in Room 3”

“Thank you” said Mycroft just as politely and stepped onto the ward through the door that swung open then closed behind him.

He walked the short distance to where Room 3 was avoiding looking into the other rooms whose doors were open as he passed; keeping his eyes down as he entered the room lit with soft lighting and quiet save for the machines whose low melodious beeping seemed almost agreeably calming.

Mycroft propped up his umbrella against a comfortable looking recliner chair by the side of the bed before lifting his eyes to the occupant of the bed itself. Alone and unobserved he did not have to compose himself to pass the scrutiny of others who watched for and exploited any sign of weakness…..something he was guilty of himself in his chosen profession. Still, he was thankful that nobody heard his shocked intake of breath, saw the widening of his eyes or the way his hand gripped the side rail of the bed.

What hit him first were not the bruises or cuts, it was that Gregory was so terribly pale. The older man even when younger had been blessed with olive skin that always looked tanned yet now dark circles under his closed eyes stood out in stark relief against the paleness of his skin and even his lips lacked their usual colour almost looking bloodless.

“Gregory”

The name slipped out with a breath he had not realised he’d been holding, he half expected those eyelids to open and for chocolate brown eyes to look at him. He regretted the abrupt way he had left Gregory in Starbucks that day, for three weeks he had not answered or returned the calls from the policeman and then in the last two weeks the calls had stopped.

~ How could he not find them lovely? Your hair was the colour of sunshine and your freckles part of your charm ~

The compliments had flowed freely from David, flattering and sweet talking…..lavishing praise upon him, Mycroft had believed every word of it and was eager to please so as to lap up more of the kind…..and then the nice things turned to denigration, disparagement and criticism. 

~ Do something about your hair you look like a fucking clown….for fuck sake, stay out of the sun otherwise you’ll turn into one big freckle…..no, you aren’t having dessert, it’s bad enough feeling like I’m sleeping with a beached whale ~

He could take compliments about his work as a fair evaluation and assessment of his performance, but when it came to any kind of compliment about his person he immediately became suspicious….the walls went up and he dismissed them….on occasion sounding as savage as Sherlock could be in their rejection without caring of offence or hurt.

But Gregory had been open with his compliments in France just as he had been in Starbucks, he had made no comment about how chubby he had been that night in France…..had giggled about getting a pen and playing dot-to-dot with his ‘adorable’ freckles and toyed with his curls and jokingly called him Carrots, and when serious, Sunshine.

There was no hidden agenda, nor was Gregory toadying to him or taking the piss….his compliments were spontaneous and honest. Mycroft had seen the troubled look on the face of the older man when he’d stood abruptly to leave, saw how he wasn’t sure what he had done to cause upset and Mycroft had been disappointed in himself for putting that expression on his face. 

“I hope you can forgive me for acting so foolishly, Gregory” said Mycroft quietly “I find personal compliments very difficult to accept….trying to put the past behind you can be a struggle and there is much you do not know about me…..but you, Gregory, are one of the kindest, honest people that I know”

By the flowers, cards and gifts in the room it appeared many people thought Gregory Jaren Lestrade a good man and police officer….and thus far he had been very good to Sherlock. Instead of dismissing him as a pain in the arse junkie he could see that his younger brother had vast talents despite being different and appreciated them rather than acting as though he were a circus freak.

“Sherlock is driving me up the wall; his boredom is driving him up the wall…so much so I am going to be forced to procure some cold cases from the Yard myself to keep him occupied…..I would hate to have to drop him somewhere in the middle of Siberia just to get some peace” said Mycroft with a sigh “Well, maybe nothing as drastic as Siberia…perhaps just out to the Lakes District to drive Mummy batty, of course Father just takes it all in his stride…he’s the normal one of the family...potters about the house and gardens humming his little tunes…”

Mycroft paused; he normally did not speak so freely about his family to anyone. He liked to keep his personal life private plus he was not in the habit of divulging information that could be used against him or them, ever mindful of security. It was hardly likely Gregory would blackmail or use such information against him; even Sherlock agreed Gregory was a paragon of honesty and one of the many in the police force who would never stoop to corruption. Though Gregory was in a drug induced sleep Mycroft had read the research suggesting such patients could sometimes hear conversations going on around them.

“Mummy likes to pretend his hummed little tunes drive her batty too…personally I think she finds them endearing” continued Mycroft “And he finds her little quirks endearing…Mummy is much like Sherlock and myself….minds that constantly process information, she is a Mathematics genius you know….gave up her career when she had me though she has written several books….she much preferred to be home raising Sherlock and I”

He paused again. A one-sided conversation with Gregory was not as engaging as having him converse back. It was far more preferable when he could observe Gregory speak for the older man had an expressive face when he spoke…..the myriad of micro-expressions were fascinating….the little wrinkles at the sides of his eyes when he was happy, the drawing of his eyebrows when contemplative or angry, the tightening of the corners of his lips showing contempt….and then there were his hands which he used as animated expression as well.

Mycroft looked down at the relaxed hand with the tape across the back of it. Gregory had large hands like himself but where his own fingers were long and slender the older man had shorter, thicker ones. He remembered how rough they had felt on his skin, how they had only touched him with the gentlest of caresses and wondered if they were still calloused.

Hesitantly, he reached down to carefully lift the slack hand lying on the linens, it strangely warm underneath but cool to the touch on the top. Mycroft traced over each of Gregory’s fingers lightly, memorising the feel of all four before going to the thumb….the rises, the dips, the rough and the soft then drew around each nail charting their untidy beds and the bitten edges so different from his own neatly trimmed and manicured nails.

Mycroft peered at the gold wedding band circling the fourth finger on his left hand. It was scratched and scuffed up and suggested it had been either never or rarely removed since the day it had been put on. A gentle tug on the piece of jewellery and it slipped off with only minor resistance leaving behind an indentation of white skin that had become a band around his finger itself. He looked inside the ring for any engravings and found only the normal hallmarks inside it then slipped it back on.

With infinite care he laid the hand back down then looked up at the pale faced man and began meticulously mapping every freckle, each line, each wrinkle, the way his eyebrows grew, how the salt and pepper stubble framed his face, cheeks and neck and the small mole on the side of his neck. Again he reached out and with the tips of his fingers gently ran them over the prickly bristles on Gregory’s cheek…..he snatched his hand away spotting a figure in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

“Who are you and what does the Secret Service want with my brother?” asked Stephanie Lestrade, an eyebrow cocked and her dark eyes running over him inquisitively.

“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information” said Mycroft smoothly though his professional tone was ruined by the way his face was burning with mortification at having been caught fondling Gregory.

Both eyebrows now lifted heavenward.

Mycroft swallowed wishing at that moment he was dealing with the imminent threat of World War Three rather than being scrutinised by Gregory’s sister who blocked the doorway leaving him with no means of a quick escape.

“Tall, tailored suit, posh voice, pretty blue eyes, handsome and bloody long legs” said Stephanie “You must be Mike”


	16. Stephanie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where does the time go, I hadn't realised it was so long since I updated this with a new chapter.

The voice was back, muffled, unintelligible but each time it spoke it grew closer. The calm, clear blue sea he floated in quite comfortably rippled as he twisted around looking for the source of the voice once again but found himself alone. The water began to ripple of its own accord, the calmness disturbed, the clear blue starting to darken and its warmth cooling. 

Go away! He didn’t like the intrusion that was changing everything, beckoning him to leave this place. Go away!

It came again bringing with it a disruption to the peaceful contentment. The sea grew rough, stark white caps forming atop the now murky depths that had turned an ugly colour of black-blue. Its temperature cooled rapidly and he found himself beginning to sink down into the gloomy cold liquid. Panic seized him as his head bobbed under; he kicked and flailed his arms to keep afloat but his efforts were futile. 

Hopelessness and fear filled him, the cold blackness was sucking him down. He thrashed, the water choking him…..he could hear voices under the water, something touched him and he tried jerk away from it….his body was numb and he clutched at his throat…..the water was frigidly cold…..it was consuming him….dread and horror at what might be lurking at the bottom of the pitch black water made him try to reach out and grab blindly at anything to hold on to.

He screamed as something touched his face, the choking feeling disappeared, brilliant light seared into eyes and he sucked in air, noise and smells flooded his nose and ears, things touched him…….a dull ache flared behind his eyes and he closed them…...confused and terrified he tried to scramble away.

“Mr Lestrade……please calm down.”

Something closed over his nose and mouth, sharp pains clawed at his arm and stomach…..somebody was screaming, the broken sounds loud in his ears. 

“For god’s sake, do something!”

A wave swept over him, his limbs grew heavy and his thoughts sluggish.......tired…..a mist descended over his brain…….calming, it was peaceful…….floating, fluffy clouds surrounding him.

Stephanie brushed her lips across the cool skin of her brother’s forehead; the last few hours had been difficult. Doctors had said it would take 24 – 48 hours for him to come out of the induced coma, sometimes it could be more or sometimes much longer.

It had been just after 1.30am and 37 hours that her brother fully regained consciousness once the drugs had stopped. The hours had passed slowly, and even slower were the small movements and spikes in brain activity that showed Greg was waking. He’d lain still and silent for nearly 5 days, her poor niece was almost beside herself when she had seen her Father, Caroline of course shed a few crocodile tears but Stephanie knew the bitch really didn’t give two shits about her daughter or Greg and it had been Stephanie who comforted and consoled Jasmine rather than her own Mother.

Even Jasmine saw through the sham of a marriage her parents had, she knew her Mother was catting around and didn’t have much respect for her. More than once Jas had called Stephanie ranting at the way her Mum treated her Dad and not understanding why her Dad didn't call it quits.

Greg should never have married her. While she gave full marks to her brother for doing the right thing after finding out he had knocked her up it would have been better to have just been a Father to Jas rather than become a husband to Caroline who, after the shine of a wedding wore off, found that babies and marriage was not what she had wanted. It hadn’t been surprising that Jasmine remained an only child though she knew Greg had wanted more children.

She was just glad their Mum and Dad were no longer around to see their son in an unhappy, loveless marriage, they had passed away 10 years ago, Dad less than eight months after Mum…..pancreatic cancer had taken Mum and a heart attack had taken Dad.

Greg and Jasmine were all she had now; her own relationship of four years had recently ended though quite amiably. This happening had given her the push she needed to return to England, working in Social Services meant jobs were not difficult to get with her qualifications. She had come close to losing her brother and she didn’t want to lose any more years being apart, the accident had shown how easily one of them could be taken away. Besides, it would irritate Caroline no end if she came back, they didn’t exactly have a friendly in-law relationship…..her sister-in-law had never approved of her lifestyle…..just as well Caroline didn’t know about Greg’s bisexuality.

Movement at the door caught her eye. He was back….and looking immaculately turned out in a dark suit that made him look every bit the Bond type. On the crook of his right arm he had that umbrella again and in his hand was a petite bouquet of beautiful sunny yellow roses. There was already a pretty bouquet of yellow and orange jonquils he'd sent. In the other was a thermos type cup that was emitting the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee that couldn’t possibly have come from a takeaway at this time of night. Mycroft Holmes had used the nurse coming in to do Greg's observations as a means of escape barely a few minutes into her interrogation of him the last time he'd been here. 

“I thought perhaps a hot beverage with copious amounts of caffeine might be welcome at this hour.”

Stephanie wasn’t going to turn down a coffee, emotionally she was wrung out and she was also dog tired. She had sent Jasmine home close to midnight when she’d been nodding off. Caroline had barely stayed two hours before pleading she had a migraine and left.

“You are a love” nodded Stephanie gratefully.

Mycroft then stepped into the room handing her the coffee which, to her amazement, was perfectly sugared and milked exactly the way she liked it.

“He’s out of the induced coma then?” asked Mycroft softly, laying down the small bouquet on the tray table at the end of the bed and gaze fixed upon her sleeping brother.

“Four hours ago….I’m glad I sent Jasmine home, Greg was confused and scared….had no idea where he was or that he was injured, it would have upset her” said Stephanie hoping she never had to witness her brother wake in terror like that again “He’s heavily sedated now, it’s likely they’ll keep him quiet for a day or two while he gets his bearings again.”

“You shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone” said Mycroft not taking his eyes from Greg “Surely his wife…..”

“Went home with a migraine….probably pissed off Greg was no longer in danger of popping his clogs meaning no fat death benefit and complete freedom to be the tomcat she is” said Stephanie bluntly.

The fact Mycroft didn’t appear to be shocked and made no remark about the comments told her the man was already aware of the state of Greg and Caroline's marriage.

“But you already knew that.” she said which drew his gaze at her, his expression was inscrutable and gave nothing away. 

He opened his mouth then closed it again, then spoke after a few moments.

“I understand what it is to have a dysfunctional relationship, I stayed in one more years than I should have and leaving had not been easy” said Mycroft quietly “I don’t judge either of them for staying despite it being far healthier if they just walked away from it, one does not walk away until they are ready to.”

Greg had not mentioned Mycroft had been previously married though it explained the gold band on his right hand.

“How long has it been since you separated?” she asked curiously.

Even though splitting up with Evelyn had been a mutual agreement she still missed her. 

“Fourteen years, he died in a car accident” replied Mycroft.

“Oh, I’m sorry” she said quickly “That must have been difficult.”

“Don’t be, and no, it wasn’t difficult……he was abusive" said Mycroft quietly "Had he survived he would never had let me alone"

Stephanie compressed her lips together. She had seen plenty of domestic abuse over the years in her work, it never got any easier and it happened in all walks of life. 

“Nobody should have to live in fear or be used as a punching bag” said Stephanie “I do understand what you mean though.”

“Yes, I know that you do” acknowledged the man “I would venture to say your profession is as stressful as mine, some things cannot be left at work when you go home.”

“No, it can’t” she agreed “But you have to believe you are making a difference no matter how terrible things can be and when it begins to overwhelm you.”

“Indeed” 

For several moments both of them said nothing more, the atmosphere had become a bit heavy and oppressive.

“Any hidden blades or improvised gun in the umbrella then?” she asked jokingly to lighten the mood.

“Alas no, 007 is the favourite of Q, he gets all the best toys and gadgets”” said Mycroft in amusement.

Stephanie snickered; the man had a sense of humour at least.

His gaze darted back to Greg when her brother moved his head. A furrow appeared between Greg’s eyebrows and his eyes moved under his eyelids then opened a fraction. 

“Hey Dougal” she said using their childhood nicknames for each other “It’s Effie”

She kissed his forehead and his eyelids dropped closed, the furrow smoothing out. She had no idea if he even processed what she said but at least he didn’t panic this time.

When she looked up Mycroft and his umbrella was gone, slipping out of the room silently.

“He’s nice Dougal, I can see why you like him…..hell, if it weren’t for the pesky problem of man bits and both of us being gay I’d tap that posh bit of arse” she said to her sleeping brother “I don’t suppose he has a sister or cousin?”


	17. Drifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After many weeks Mycroft finally goes to see Gregory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter at last, it's quite a long one and took a bit of effort to write but hopefully you will like it. Many thanks for your perseverance with the story along with A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement. Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, whatever suits you :-)

Mycroft sat in the car outside a home showing slivers of light peeking between gaps at the side of the front window. A light drizzle had begun to fall and the half-moon occasionally peered out before it was hidden by ominous clouds that suggested a heavier rain in due course, he for one wouldn’t mind a good downpour having always preferred the cooler to the warmer weather. 

Taking a deep breath he got out of the car and inhaled the brisk, damp air then turned his head upwards letting the feathery like drizzle drift over face and sighed, it was always nice to be back home in England after going abroad. Only less than a week ago he was withering in the wretched, humid heat of Australia’s capital city on the last leg of a four week long trip meeting with various Commonwealth intelligence agencies. The Australians were a friendly lot even if he didn’t understand half the slang they managed to interject into informal conversations which seemed to greatly entertain them…..he could forgive their amusement at his expense which was not of the vindictive sort since they were most accommodating in their formal talks.

Walking up the short path to the front door he smoothed his hands down his suit jacket then prodded a finger at the door bell button hearing the resultant ‘ding-dong’ chime inside the house announcing his presence. He took a step back as the outside light was turned on just moments later, then took another one as the door was flung open and kept calm when faced with Stephanie whose expression indicated she was fit to do murder. She was quite a formidable woman; Mycroft was reminded of his own Mother who was like a battleship when it suited her. He blinked as the fierce demeanour disappeared off of the older woman’s face and was replaced by one of worry and stress. 

“Thank god, I was hoping you would turn up eventually” said Stephanie anxiously “Sorry about the dramatic welcome, thought it was the Tomcat…..she hasn’t been home in three days after her and Greg had a massive row……he’s not in a good place at the moment, not sleeping, barely eating, you’ll find him down at The Red Lion off the High Street…..I just don’t know what to do, I’ve never seen him like this”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. It was news to him that Gregory was not in a good way nor had Sherlock mentioned anything. Latest information dated a week ago suggested that Mrs Lestrade was most likely in the company of her new paramour though he doubted the man would last long, the mechanic she had taken up with was also married and unknown to him his wife currently had a private detective shadowing him and gathering evidence, his indiscretions would be a costly one when she divorced him.

“Maybe you can get through to him, at the moment he’s using alcohol as a crutch” said Stephanie “I’ll have the kettle at the ready in case you manage to get him home, if not just take care of him please”

Going back to his car he instructed his driver to drop him outside the public house Stephanie had spoken of, feeling very self-conscious entering it when he drew a few stares. It was hardly the place to be dressed in his new black pinstripe he’d picked up in Dubai on the way home. The cut of the jacket and trousers were closer than what he was used to but the tailor had assured him the style would be quite fashionable in London in the coming months. The term ‘looking like a fish out of water’ was apt at the moment; his attire was ridiculously over the top in comparison to the casual wear others wore dotted around the establishment.

He spied Gregory at a table focused on watching an international rugby match on a television on the wall, silently Mycroft observed him, though he was a far cry from the pale creature the last time Mycroft had seen him in hospital it looked as if he had lost some weight and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed Stephanie’s statement he was not sleeping well. Clad in faded denim jeans that were frayed at the hems, a rumpled navy blue check shirt, joggers and messy hair, the man was in complete contrast to his own attire and grooming, most particularly the facial hair he’d let grow to cover the lower half of his face and neck with a pelt of silver and dark fur captured his notice. 

He had never been a fan of facial hair, he’d been clean shaven from the moment ginger whiskers had begun to appear above his upper lip as a teenager and avoided men in the past sporting even a day’s stubble growth. but on Gregory the untidy scruff was most becoming…….he had never believed in the theory facial hair made a male appear more attractive and virile but at that moment he dismissed that idea because facial hair on Gregory was most becoming, yes, it most definitely enhanced his masculinity……he could well tolerate the adornment as a permanent fixture on the older man’s face without difficulty.

Mycroft debated going to the bar to purchase a ginger ale at the bar but instead decided to head over to where Gregory sat, slipping into one of the chairs opposite him then propping his umbrella against a leg of his chair.

“Hello Gregory” greeted Mycroft warmly.

“What are you doing here, Mr Holmes?” asked Gregory flatly after merely glancing at him before returning his attention to the television.

Mycroft was taken aback for a second at the use of the formal to address him; even more worrying was the dull lifelessness in those lovely brown eyes and the slurred speech suggested Gregory was already on the way to being well intoxicated.

“You’ve made it quite obvious you have more important things to do than to bother with me so why are you even here” Gregory didn’t even pose the sentence as a question, rather it was just said with a faint air of boredom without even looking at him “Hardly your kind of place iinnit, not afraid you’ll catch something slumming with the common folk”

He wasn’t going to defend being deliberately absent before the accident or in the last week since returning to England though it wasn’t because he couldn’t be bothered with the older man. No, he would never normally frequent such an establishment though he had spent some time inside public houses in his younger years when legwork was a major part of his job…..such places had been ideal for meetings where alcohol would loosen tongues…..and sometimes belt buckles…..and as for slumming it, he wondered what Gregory would think of him if he told him he’d never caught anything in toilet cubicles and stinking back alleys in such pubs as this whilst being fucked by or sucking the cock of whatever took his fancy once.

“I did come to see you in hospital Gregory, and until 6 days ago I spent just over a month abroad carrying out work related business” answered Mycroft “I’m not going to defend being absent before your accident or since returning to England because yes, that was quite deliberate though you are wrong believing I cannot be bothered with you”

The older man didn’t respond, instead keeping his eyes on the television he lifted the pint glass to his mouth and took a swallow of the beer still half filling it.

“Drowning your sorrows with alcohol is futile, it only provides temporary relief from thoughts that trouble you and the problems will still be there when you sober up, escapism only delays the inevitable” said Mycroft softly “Your sister is worried about you…….I’m worried about you…….”

“You sound like that idiot I’m forced to see……barely wet behind the ears out of university and full of psychobabble bullshit……how could he possibly know how I am feeling or even understand” interrupted Gregory turning to scowl at him. 

“What are you feeling, Gregory, make me understand” said Mycroft gently coaxing the older man, hoping he would keep talking now he’d started, his inhibitions decreased with the alcohol in his system.

Mycroft grimaced as Gregory lifted the glass and gulped down the remaining beer before standing up and narrowing his eyes at Mycroft.

“Piss off” returned Gregory with another scowl though there was no aggression in his tone or body language “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing, I might not be smart like you and Sherlock but I’m not stupid……I don’t need you psychoanalysing me, Mr Holmes”

With a sigh he got up and followed the older man who was a little unsteady on his feet as he made to leave the pub.

“At least let me convey you home safely if nothing else please” requested Mycroft knowing full well Gregory was going to walk home in his drunken state which was not only foolish with his broken arm still in its cast but dangerous too. 

“I don’t WANT to go home……..Effie is driving me mad, she means well and I love her to bits but she’s driving me MAD” muttered Greg with a whine in his voice “Caroline has turned into the harpy bitch from hell when she bothers to even be at home and not out banging like a barn door with god only knows who, I’m sick of listening to her be a complete cow to Effie and talking to me like I'm shit on her shoe…….I’ll just wander about a bit then find a nice park bench to lay my head on when I want a kip” 

Mycroft was aghast. As a police officer Gregory was well aware of the dangers of doing such a thing, that he could act so flippantly about placing himself in a dangerous situation particularly while he was still physically recovering from the injuries he’d sustained in the accident spoke volumes regarding his current mental well-being and state of affairs at home. 

“I’m afraid I cannot let you do that, it would be irresponsible of me to just stand back and allow you to endanger yourself” insisted Mycroft, lightly placing a hand in the middle of Gregory’s back and prodding him towards his car where Ravi, his driver, in the blink of an eye was out of the driver’s seat and had the rear door whipped open and a hand on Gregory’s good arm assisting Mycroft with the drunken man, nodding at him when given his instructions quietly.

“What are YOU doing?……let me GO!…..Myc!” squeaked Gregory indignantly. 

Mycroft ignored the protest and propelled him into the backseat where the older man went for the opposite door handle straight away and made a noise of frustration finding it centrally locked from the front while Mycroft slid in after him quickly closing the car door behind him.

“You can’t just fucking kidnap me off the street you spook bastard, I’m a bloody copper….. is illegal, I ‘ave rights!” remonstrated Gregory irately. 

“Oh yes, you are quite right, kidnapping is very much illegal but it is highly unlikely anybody would dare question me about it” agreed Mycroft bluntly “But right now you are making choices influenced by your intoxication that are ill considered and dangerous……do you imagine Jasmine wants a call from your sister to tell her the Father she loves is dead because he was attacked by god only knows who while lying around in some park like a drunken vagabond, or break your sister's heart with your carelessness……do you think I want my people informing me that you’ve been critically injured again, or worse…….”

Mycroft snapped his mouth closed, both at having spoken far too freely and at the open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression of deep hurt that crossed Gregory’s face. He swallowed, sick with fright he’d gone too far with his words, damaging their fragile friendship beyond repair……what he did not expect was the tears that suddenly filled those dark eyes and the rising dismay when they spilled over in fat streaks down his face before bowing his head and crying silently. 

There was no way in hell he was going to face Stephanie with her brother in this distraught state, especially since he was responsible for it, he quickly and quietly instructed his driver on the intercom to take him home thus changing his previous orders to go to the Lestrade home.

He wrung his hands anxiously for several moments. Cautiously he slid towards the upset man quite unsure how to deal with the emotional outburst and worried he might be rebuffed.

“Gregory” he whispered “I’m sorry, I hate that I have caused you distress”

Gregory closed the gap between them startling him with the invasion of his personal space and leant into Mycroft to lay his head on his shoulder. Mycroft let out a shaky breath at the warmth of the body against him, unused to the close intimate contact. The older man made no response, only continuing to cry quietly into his shoulder. Hesitantly he laid a hand between Gregory’s shoulder blades; he would not push the man further to confide his troubles in him, unwilling to upset him any further and his deductions could keep for the time being.

Throughout the drive he rubbed little circles where his hand lay on Gregory’s back offering silent support and by the time they had reached his home Gregory had stopped crying but hadn’t moved away, Mycroft was loathe to disturb him but had little choice once Ravi, his driver, got out of the car to open the rear door. 

“Come now, Gregory” said Mycroft softly, coaxing Gregory out of the car.

The poor man was so fatigued physically and mentally, not helped by the alcohol he had consumed, and looked ready to keel over on his feet. The older man gazed at Mycroft blearily before trustingly allowing himself to be led along into the house and then to the guest room usually kept for his parents, Sherlock and on the rare occasion, Anthea.

He sat Gregory on the end of the bed after he first removed his coat then knelt down to unlace and remove the joggers on his feet. 

“Myc, what did I do to keep you away?” asked Gregory barely able to keep his reddened and puffy eyes open now and swaying. 

“You didn’t do anything, Gregory, it is entirely my fault……I have baggage from my past that encroaches into my life” answered Mycroft truthfully. 

Putting the joggers to one side tidily he helped Gregory up and kept a firm hold on him as he guided him to the side of the bed, gently laying him down after drawing back the quilt and sheets then covered him with the linens. He switched on the lamp on the bedside table and set it for a dim light. Gregory was drifting into slumber by the time he’d closed the drapes and fetched a glass of water from the bathroom to put on the bedside table next to the lamp. 

“I….missed….you….Sunshine….don’t…..” murmured Gregory sleepily then yawned. 

Whatever was going to be said next was lost as the man finally fell asleep. Mycroft stood and watched him, gut clenched tight with longing. He could still smell the spicy woodsy cologne on his suit jacket from where the older man had leaned on him. Reluctantly he left the bedroom, leaving the door open just in case Gregory woke in the night and wanted anything.

Mycroft took out his phone and found Stephanie’s mobile number in his contacts and got her message bank when she didn’t answer.

“Hello Stephanie, it’s Mycroft, I have Gregory with me, he’s currently safely asleep in my spare bedroom” said Mycroft “He was quite intoxicated and will probably have a filthy head in the morning but I will ensure he eats properly when he wakes”

Stephanie would not be able to return the call since his number would be restricted on the message but no doubt it would reassure her that Gregory was being taken care of. It was far too early for him to go to bed, he had work he could do and there was a new Russian spy novel Anthea had purchased for him that begged to be read and decided work could wait until morning and opted for the novel instead. 

Half an hour later he’d showered, put on his pyjamas, drank a hot chocolate and to distract himself was inside the world of Valentin Mikhail Dorefey who was currently seducing fellow spy Natasya Sofiya Prokopiy……like James Bond he was quite the ladies man. He laid the novel aside after reading the romance scene that was pretty much the usual boring stereotype of heterosexual sex instead of having the strong, female character as the aggressor instead of the usual passive participant.

Closing his eyes and looking into the extensive network that was his mind he went to the orange painted door with the wrought iron number 17 in black fixed to it and pushed it open. A warm, balmy breeze scented with the sand and sea filled his nose as he entered the cheap hotel room and looked at the lumpy bed adorned with its colourful, gaudy bedspread then tumbled into part of one particular memory he had revisted many times

~ FLASHBACK ~

_“Please” ___

He didn’t mean to sound desperate and his cheeks flushed with shame as the more experienced man had him begging once again like an insatiable slut.

__“Anything you want beautiful” said Jaren kissing his collarbone, fingers massaging the skin behind his balls and driving him mad “What do you want?”_ _

“Fuck me…..”

____

A slick finger teased his entrance, still loose and slippery with oil from earlier, two slipped inside and Jaren continued to drive him mad from the inside now, knowing exactly what to touch.

____

“I love how you respond to me, such a turn on” murmured Jaren kissing the corner of his mouth.

____

He drew his knees up, offering himself, wordlessly pleading to be taken. Jaren obliged, thumbing one of his nipples as he moved down between his thighs. Shocks of pleasure rippled up his spine, the sting of his nipple being pinched while Jaren filled him made him shudder and whine.

____

Sliding his hand from Jaren’s shoulder down to the curve of his arse he tried to pull him in even closer, wanting and needing more.

____

“I’ll give you anything you want, Sunshine” promised Jaren pushing his knees wider apart and fucking him slowly.

____

He put his hands behind his knees to open himself up further to Jaren and tightened around his cock deliberately, the resultant groan from the older man was addictive, thrilling Mycroft in knowing Jaren found pleasure in having his body.

____

“Fuck you’re incredible” grunted Jaren touching Mycroft’s cock, smearing the wetness there with his fingers and rubbing it over the smooth head.

____

“Yes!” he moaned, Gregory's fingertips running down the shaft and back up to the underside of his cock and stroking at the sensitive part near the head, teasing him “Please!”

____

Jaren shifted so his knees were either side of Mycroft’s hips, thighs over his own thighs and wrapped his hands around the tops of his thighs to hold him up and in place as he fucked him with quick, rough thrusts that made Mycroft arch his back, noises of pure pleasure falling from his mouth, nothing had ever felt as good as this did.

____

Shamelessly he touched himself, sliding his cock through his fist and imagined how filthy he must look spread out and writhing like a desperate tart, legs wide, hole fully exposed, head back and wanking himself as Jaren fucked him hard. He cried out with every thrust, moving his hand in time with each snap of Jaren’s hips, listening to the older man’s moans until Mycroft’s body went taut and tightened around his cock, changing to sharp gasps as Mycroft convulsed through yet another mind-blowing orgasm. Shivering in it's aftermath, Jaren then fell on him to plunder his mouth while fucking him relentlessly until he too panted and groaned against Mycroft’s lips calling him Sunshine as he found his own orgasm.

____

~ END FLASHBACK ~

____

Mycroft opened his eyes with a swift intake of breath kicked the quilt down off himself to gaze at the lump in his pyjama pants. They too were shoved down and he stared at his cock which seemingly had roused itself to a partially hard state. He didn’t have spontaneous erections; he’d not had them since around 2 years into his relationship with David. Physically he was quite normal, medical examinations concluded there was nothing amiss but according to his therapist his difficulties were rooted in the psychological from where his mind correlated sex with pain, domination and shame from having no control over the orgasms David delighted in forcing out of him . He didn’t masturbate very often; it took effort to attain an erection…..and more effort to achieve an orgasm.

____

He was not in the right frame of mind to explore this and simply tugged his pyjama pants back up and righted the quilt once again. Once thing was certain, this development did indeed correlate with Gregory who, according to his psychologist, was wakening things he had deeply buried inside himself…….and it frightened the hell out of him.

____


	18. Puking and Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I cannot believe it is nearly six months since I updated this fic! Where does the time go?? Thank you to the readers who have stuck with me and waited to read more, you are awesome! Hoping to have a new chapter out on my other fic A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement within the week :-)

Waking was not a pleasant. Not only did his stomach roll when he moved but his mouth tasted like a cat had decided use it as a litter-box to take a shit in. Opening his eyes the sudden light from a lamp exacerbated the dull thudding in his head turning it into a tempo dashing on the insides his skull and nauseating him. Saliva filled his mouth, the precursor to throwing his guts up, and he had no choice but to scramble out of bed feeling his stomach readying itself to purge itself of its contents. Greg swayed, wildly looking about and wondering where the fuck he was then lurched across the strange room spying a wash hand basin through an open door and darted in there just in time to frantically lift the toilet seat up and clutch the cistern.

His stomach contracted sending the contents of his stomach in a projectile vomit worthy of The Exorcist into the porcelain bowl. Sinking to his knees he groaned as his stomach forced up more, retching over and over until his gut ached from the effort. Completely wrung out, shaking and with a skull feeling like his brain was trying to pound its way out he hugged the bowl with a piteous moan pressing his hot forehead against the cool porcelain. He should not have mixed wine and beer, wine always made him sick when he mixed it with other alcohol. He was such a goddam idiot, and so fucking worn out and tired….. 

“Gregory?”

Jumping with surprise Greg looked up then cringed, ducking his head down in mortification as the mystery of where he was and how he had gotten here was cleared up, his stomach rolled making him sick again. 

“Go ‘way!” groaned Greg breathing heavily though his mouth and trying not to think about the smell coming from inside the toilet bowl. 

He started to dry reach again; horribly embarrassed the other man was witness to this and shrunk away hearing him enter the bathroom. He felt like death warmed up and just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. 

“Please go away” he gasped once the heaving abated, conscious of the fact he reeked of stale alcohol, sweat and vomit.

“No” said Mycroft quietly, running water in the sink and then drawing closer. 

Too exhausted and weak to argue with the man he closed his eyes. The smelly mess in the toilet was flushed away and Greg flinched as his thudding head was drawn off the side of the toilet bowl. 

“Don’t” murmured Greg, mortified at what he must look and smell like.

“Hush” said Mycroft softly, cupping his jaw securely in a palm “You are not the only one to have hugged a toilet bowl to pay the consequences of too much alcohol” 

A soft hand smoothed back the damp hair stuck against his sweaty forehead and he surrendered to a cool flannel scented with a light floral soap that gently cleansed his face and neck.

“I drank myself into oblivion on a regular basis after becoming a widower. The very last time I did so I was so drunk my brother ended up having to bathe me because not only did I vomit over myself I also wet myself” said Mycroft with a sigh “In turn I have dragged Sherlock out of drug dens covered in months of filth and reeking worse than any sewer”

“You must have loved your husband deeply” mumbled Greg woozily, unable to imagine the prim man hugging a loo covered in sick and piss.

“Has your stomach settled enough for you to swallow a couple of pills?” asked Mycroft, as always avoiding the topic of his husband.

He opened his eyes a fraction tiredly and nodded, taking the two small pills and glass of water the other man handed to him from the top of the bathroom cabinet. He swallowed them both and drank all the water thirstily.

“You look like you need a few good robust meals and a week of sleep” said Mycroft with a hint of reproval in his voice “You are still recovering Gregory, running your health into the ground…….”

“Oh spare me the nagging, you sound like Steph” snapped Greg irritably.

“Well, of course your sister is going to nag you if you don’t bother to take care of yourself……that’s what siblings do…….you would do the same if she were in your place” said Mycroft just as snappishly.

Wearily he shrugged off the attempts of help as he got to his feet and with wobbly legs returned back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. 

“I think I should go” said Greg flatly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s three in the morning and I’ve already informed your sister you will be spending the night” said Mycroft firmly and coolly “Now get back into bed so I can take my leave and irritate you no further”

With that Mycroft drew the bedclothes back and gently prodded at Greg’s shoulder for him to get back into bed. Greg lay back down and gazed up at Mycroft as he fussed over him with the bedclothes. Clad in simple navy blue tartan flannelette pyjamas, the younger man looked like the Mycroft of France with his hair fluffed up and his unconcealed freckles. By the compressed lips he had pissed Mycroft off and despite being annoyed with the man for avoiding him for weeks on end he did feel shitty at speaking to him like that. Blue eyes darted up to Greg’s face as he reached out and grasped the hand that had just fastidiously tucked in the quilt. 

“I’m sorry” said Greg simply. 

“No harm done” said Mycroft glancing down to their hands as Greg gave a little squeeze before taking it back and tucking it under his chin.

“G’night, Myc” he murmured closing his eyes.

“Goodnight Gregory” returned Mycroft quietly and left the room with soft footfalls.

Greg opened his eyes blearily. For a moment he just blinked before he realised the sheets smelled of lavender and the bed felt different to the one in the spare room. Though the curtains were drawn he could see daylight sending swatches of gold hues up from behind the pelmet, he sat up and looked around the dimmed room. Memories of how he came to find himself in Mycroft’s spare room and then the unfortunate events in the bathroom. flickered through his mind making him grimace.

Though his stomach no longer felt sick he had a slight headache, felt achy all over and could quite happily turn over and go back to sleep. Unfortunately he was bloody thirsty, his bladder needed emptying and he needed to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible preferably without detection. 

He groaned as he got up and feeling a little lightheaded he went into the bathroom to take care of his full bladder struggling with opening his trousers to take a leak then struggling again to do it all in reverse. He went to the basin, frowning at his reflection in the mirror as he washed up as best as he could with a small bar of the floral soap on the dish and a clean flannel then tidied his hair up a bit though in truth he felt grotty and really needed a shower. 

A brand new unopened toothbrush and toothpaste sat on top of a neatly folded hand towel next to the basin and Greg gladly scrubbed and rinsed the foul taste from his mouth. He still looked like as bad as he felt and he hoped he didn’t smell too badly of stale alcohol and sweat. Christ, he’d been a complete and utter wanker last night. God, what must Mycroft think of him? 

After struggling to get dressed he trod quietly through the house to make his escape, he had embarrassed himself horribly last night and while he was thankful to the man there was no way in hell he wanted to face him at the moment. He had expected to find something like a cross between those homes he’d seen in those swanky house magazines that always seemed to be the only ones on offer in a doctor’s surgery and Antiques Roadshow and he wasn’t disappointed finding a tastefully decorated and comfortable home that certainly had no expense spared.

His hope to depart undetected was shattered when he skidded to a halt just inside a chrome and black kitchen which was part of a larger open planned area. In the lounge area an older woman sat comfortably in a recliner chair and a grey haired gentleman read a newspaper, he would have considered going back the way he came when both focused their attention onto him but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor, that's when Mycroft stepped out of what appeared to be a pantry with a packet of Hobnobs in hand and stilled at seeing him. 

Struck dumb he stared at the younger man. Not only was his hair slightly curly and not combed flat within an inch of its life to perfection but he was also devoid of suit jacket, tie and waistcoat. He took in the brown rimmed glasses and the rolled up sleeves of the light blue shirt that revealed slender wrists and freckled forearms, the unbuttoned collar exposed the hollow of his throat and fine reddish tufts of hair peeked out . 

Greg blinked then swallowed following down the length of the man; the tailored trousers not only flattered his trim hips and stomach but accentuated his long legs. His cock twitched inside his jeans, seemingly feebly attempting to rouse itself from its impotent dormancy at the sight of Mycroft almost in a state of undress in comparison to his suited up normalcy…..not that he didn’t look great in his suits but this Mycroft, this casual nerdy looking Mycroft was unbelievably gorgeous and hot. Upon redirecting his gaze back upwards the let out a breath at the younger mans widened blue eyes, his stomach did a flip-flop at the ruddy red flush that bloomed across Mycroft’s freckled cheeks.

Greg dragged his eyes away from Mycroft to the woman who had set her knitting aside and had gotten up from her chair to approach him. Pale coloured eyes the exact shape and colour of Sherlock’s flicked over him in a way that told him not only was this the Holmes matriarch but both Sherlock and Mycroft had inherited the gift of deduction from her. The Holmes patriarch simply gazed at him with frank curiosity. God only knows what conclusions they were drawing about him….. 

“Mikey darling, another pot of Earl Grey may be in order” he felt his face grow warm as Mrs Holmes smiled brightly at him then laid a hand on his good arm after sparing a glance to Mycroft “And I think you, Gregory, should come sit and tell us all about yourself”


	19. Moving Forward

Mycroft swore turning up the wipers dancing across the windscreen another notch. It was less than ideal outside; what had been mere drizzle when he’d left home had turned into plummeting streams dashing against the windscreen within fifteen minutes of his departure making visibility poor. It would appear the much touted likelihood of a thunderstorm to break the heatwave currently scorching the country had arrived…..of course Mother Nature would choose the evening he had to drive himself to decide to bring out her full blown stormy wrath. 

That morning he had waved Richard off and sent him home, the man had looked like death warmed up with the beginnings of a nasty bout of summer ‘flu, then Ravi’s unborn child chose that afternoon to announce his or her early entry into the world and he had also sent him off to attend to his labouring wife. He could have insisted Anthea drive him but she had planned to curl up with some Thai and catch up on her beloved Home and Away that evening. She too was entitled to a personal life when work allowed and he was not incapable of driving himself around.

“No you cretin!” shouted Mycroft when the car in the next lane decided to move over to his lane, too close for comfort. The idiot had not bothered to look properly in their mirrors and given the inclement weather it was a foolish move which had the moron quickly ducking back when realising there was indeed a car in their way. He had always disliked driving, careless drivers made him uneasy but there was no way he was going to pass on the upcoming evening for the sake of having to drive himself.

It had been two weeks since the incident with Gregory. That particular morning he had not been at his best at all. Sleep had been at a minimum then between the drunken Gregory, taking work related phone calls and his parents arriving unexpectedly at dawn he’d barely got a moment to dress properly or groom himself and when Gregory had skidded into the living area he’d frozen and had stood there like an idiot with the bloody Hobnobs Mummy fancied horribly conscious of the sloppy way he’d been dressed. The glasses he wore only at home or over at his parents home weren’t exactly attractive and opted to wear contact lenses normally, his wild hair had not been tamed, the freckles that skin on display, the well-worn slippers on his feet, the rumpled trousers and shirt he’d pulled on had looked scruffy.

He’d held his breath dreading a reaction that David would have shown. A grimace and wrinkled nose expressing distaste like he’d sniffed shit thus making it plain his appearance had been found lacking and was disappointed about the fact. Normally he could keep his reactions and emotions controlled in front of others, he’d had persons overtly express interest after David which he had not sought out or welcomed. A couple of them had been just looking to satisfy base sexual needs but others had been mostly for reasons of promotion, information, curiosity or power seeking. All had been met with firm rejections since he had no interest in relationships or hook-ups.

Mycroft sighed. Gregory had looked him over from head to toe his expression had been entirely open and it shad sent a thrill up his spine when seeing the opposite to what David would have done. The same butterflies that had also started up in his belly that morning fluttered in his chest and belly again making Mycroft squirm with the sensation. Far from finding him lacking there had been desire in those dark eyes at what he saw and nothing could have prevented the blush that he’d felt burning across his cheeks at that look Gregory had given him. The control he had carefully cultivated since David had disappeared and a longing had tightened in his chest. To be simply embraced or kissed knowing he need not have to analyse motives first and could just surrender to the action without hesitation.

For those few seconds he’d forgotten about his parents, blushing even harder when Mummy butted in having read Gregory with his frank expression and witnessing Mycroft’s unguarded reaction in return. She’d then swept off and cornered Gregory to ply him with tea and biscuits cleverly subjecting him to a subtle interrogation worthy of one of his agents. Then once Gregory had left she had bailed Mycroft up before he could flee to the safety of his office or bedroom to then interrogate him on his past with Gregory and his feelings for the man. He had once again felt like a teenager when she stated matter-of-factly the policeman was a nice young man, very dishy like Sherlock had described and worthy of her sons affection if he chose to enter into a relationship with him. 

“Mortifying” groaned Mycroft “Utterly mortifying”

He’d bailed his brother up soon after and given Sherlock a piece of his mind for blabbing to Mummy like a tattle-tale about his private life, his mortification complete when his brother informed him Mummy was quite happy for her eldest son to take up with Gregory, to finally shrug off the mantle of monkhood and allow himself to be bedded and thoroughly shagged. Though he’d not seen Gregory until now there had been several texts between them of just general chit chat after Mycroft had enquired how Sherlock was getting on and hoping his brother wasn’t driving him mad, and of course Anthea had kept him informed. 

Gregory had been attending extra appointments with the police psychologist, the content of those talks Mycroft had not been privy to sine he'd not asked Anthea to find out leaving Gregory to his privacy. He did not know how it had come about but it had come as a complete surprise when he’d been informed there had been a blazing row at the Lestrade home a little over a week ago resulting in Mrs Lestrade leaving the house with a suitcase and then residing with one of her girlfriends. She was still having an affair with the mechanic, the both of them providing plenty of fodder for the private investigator to hand over to the suspecting wife. It would appear the Lestrade marriage was at an end given Gregory had already sought the services of a lawyer specialising in family law. He had made no mention in their texts of the break up and Gregory had made no reference to it.

Mycroft’s stomach did a somersault as he approached the exit he needed to take off the motorway. It had been quite unexpected to receive a phone call from Stephanie Lestrade yesterday morning inviting him to her birthday dinner, laughingly apologising for pilfering his number out of her brother’s phone without him knowing. They had chatted for only a minute or so since Mycroft had needed to attend a video conference but he liked Stephanie immensely and would have preferred chatting further with the bubbly woman rather than have to sit through three hours of meetings via satellite. Normally he would send Anthea to purchase gifts for him after giving her specifics but he himself had ducked out into London knowing exactly what would be the perfect gifts for Stephanie.

Parking the car just a little way down from Gregory’s home he took a few deep breaths. He’d mulled over his collection of wines wishing he’d asked what they were having for dinner but at the time he hadn’t thought to ask and it felt a little rude to call Stephanie back and ask so he took a chance on the selection he had made. Clutching a bag under his arm but trying not to squash it’s contents then flicking open his umbrella he made a mad dash for the front door taking care not to slip over and noted the temperature had dropped several degrees in the short time since he’d left home. Thankfully the door was opened in a trice after ringing the doorbell by a beaming Stephanie, something smelling divinely delicious wafted out to tease his nose and he was delighted to detect the scent of garlic and chili making the Sauvignon Blanc he’d brought the perfect drop.

“In you come, it’s turned positively filthy out there…..mad dogs and Englishmen eh what” said Stephanie laughing while taking his umbrella to flick off the wet.

“Indeed” agreed Mycroft “Hopefully this weather will return conditions to mildly warm once again, I for one am over this heat”

Stephanie hung his umbrella on a hook next to a purple coat that was obviously hers and the grey coat he recognised as belonging to Gregory. 

“Last Christmas Evelyn and I were roasting our proverbial arses off on a sunny Queensland beach in Australia, we were sipping on Mango Daiquiri’s, eating all manner of seafood and frolicking in the lusciously cool sea” she said gaily “It makes our heatwaves seem quite ridiculous in comparison”

“You miss her” observed Mycroft softly and Stephanie smiled though not sadly.

“Of course I do but we are both happy with our decision to go our own way so it’s all worked out for the best” said Stephanie “Now, I hope you’re hungry because when we Lestrades feast, we feast well”

“It smells wonderful and I’m famished” said Mycroft who had skipped lunch and only managed to get a cup of tea and Chelsea Bun for afternoon tea. He reached into his bag to pick out the gifts and handed them to her “Happy Birthday, Stephanie”

She looked genuinely surprised and took the gifts he proffered. Anthea had wrapped the square box in the lovely lavender coloured paper he’d chosen and adorned it with a gold coloured ribbon tied in a large bow but first she buried her nose in the purple and yellows of the mixed blooms in the bouquet that accompanied the parcel.

“Oh they smell divine!” exclaimed Stephanie grinning delightedly “I would say you didn’t have to but instead I’m going to enjoy feeling very spoiled, thank you Mycroft”

Mycroft couldn’t help smile back at her, her girlish enthusiasm was infectious and he simply followed when she grasped his hand and tugged him along into the sitting room. She flopped herself onto the sofa placing the flowers to one side before carefully unwrapping the ribbon then peeling the tape away from the paper. Her dark eyes widened and her face lit up as the box was opened.

“It’s gorgeous!” she breathed taking out the folded fabric from its box.

Mycroft beamed on the inside seeing her reaction to the hand embroidered silk and cotton pashmina wrap he had bought her, it was a well-known designer label and he congratulated himself on his correct choice of gift. The colours were of a palette in shades of mauves, lavenders and purples with hints of greens, pinks and yellows chosen for the colours she favoured wearing. It could be worn as a smart evening wrap or equally donned with casual wear.

“Thank you very much!” she exclaimed happily examining the embroidery “So beautiful!”

She jumped up to drape the lovely fabric around her shoulders and Mycroft swore she purred when she ran a hand lovingly over the soft fibre. He was startled when she grabbed him into a bear hug after kissing his cheek and it was then he spied Gregory leaning against the door frame that led from the sitting room into the hallway staring at Mycroft.

If Stephanie heard his intake of breath she didn’t acknowledge it, instead she let go of Mycroft and spun around so that the pashmina billowed out and giggled; either unaware of or deliberately ignoring the sudden change in atmosphere. He wanted to say something witty but his mouth had gone dry and he refrained from wanting to smooth his now damp palms down his trousers.

Despite feeling self-conscious about his appearance once more he couldn’t help stare in return at the casually dressed man in bare feet wearing a Dr Who t-shirt sporting an exploding TARDIS and black jeans that looked like they had been painted on. Mycroft swallowed at the facial hair that was still in evidence albeit tidied up along with the salt and peppery hair that had too been trimmed. 

He himself had dressed in what Anthea had suggested – his mid brown corduroys and a short sleeved cream shirt with claret striping topped off with his highly polished Oxfords. He had tamed his hair into tidiness as normal though he’d left his freckles exposed and worn his glasses rather than his contact lenses.

“Good evening, Gregory” said Mycroft breaking the silence darting a quick glance to Stephanie who was grinning at them both then took the few steps towards the still staring man and produced the bottle of wine he’d brought “I think this will go quite satisfactorily with a spicy dinner….”

Mycroft snapped his mouth closed, wincing inwardly at sounding like a pompous sommelier bringing wine to a restaurant table. The momentary silence was broken again but this time when Jasmine Lestrade bounded up behind Father from out of the kitchen and peered at Mycroft over Gregory’s shoulder. She looked him up and down, grinned and winked at her Aunt. He swallowed again feeling like he had been given the tick of approval by the young lady and that both the women were matchmaking.

“You gonna introduce us, Dad?” asked the young lady nudging at her Father who blinked then nodded.

“Jasmine this is Mycroft, Mycroft this is my ratbag daughter Jasmine” said Gregory nudging the 20 year old in return.

“How do you do, Jasmine” said Mycroft formally, taking the hand that was thrust at him and doing the gentlemanly thing and kissed the back of it lightly.

“Oh can we keep him Dad, he’s just adorable!” exclaimed Jasmine “And call me Jas, please”

Gregory rolled his eyes at his daughter who was a few inches taller than her Father taking after her Mother but had his olive colouring, dark hair and brown eyes.

“He’s not a stray moggy, Jas” said Gregory.

“Of course he’s not but he could teach a few of the lads my age some manners in being a gentleman” she said then looked at her watch “Speaking of which Nat, Vaughn and Jaime will be here any minute so I’ll have to dash. Lovely to meet you Mycroft, will see you next weekend Dad and walk me outside Aunt Effie?"

She was like a whirlwind, there one moment and gone the next. She did not appear to be unduly upset by her parents break-up though was clearly affectionate with her Father despite the separation, perhaps like Anthea had suggested she did not get along with her Mother at all.

He fixed his eyes upon Gregory again whose dark chocolate eyes swung to him once more then dropped to look at his mouth. Suddenly Mycroft felt very nervous, he forced himself not to turn away feeling his cheeks heating up to glow like red neon lights. His psychologist had encouraged him to be open to whatever was happening between him and Gregory, to not fear the feelings he was having nor fear that any intimacy would be anything like what he’d experienced with David.

The old Mycroft before David would not have hesitated to simply throw himself at Gregory but for years during and after David he had not looked at anybody in more than an impersonal way and despite years of counselling and therapy initiating intimate contact was so foreign to him it made him anxious. Regardless of the crippling anxiety he was experiencing he wanted to lean forward and kiss those lips with his own, a mere light touch…..quick and chaste then drawing back from Gregory he was astonished and shocked at having done just that.


End file.
